


The Wolf Hunt

by Melicious_Intent



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Solavellan - Fandom
Genre: Complete, Confrontations, Discovery, F/M, Flashbacks, Heartbreak, Matter of Life and Death, Other, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Published on fanfiction.net June '15, Written Prior to Trespasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 18:10:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 159,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8337640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melicious_Intent/pseuds/Melicious_Intent
Summary: When the dust settled after the battle and Solas disappeared without a trace, Inquisitor Lavellan left her past behind to start over. But Cole knows a terrible secret that could spell the difference between life and death for his friend, and he can think of only one person in all of Thedas who might be able to save her from her fate - that is, if the elven man can even be found...Written and completed in the months leading up to the release of the Trespasser DLC, this is my personal take on "How It Should Have Ended", at least from the perspective of a crushed and heartbroken Solasmancer. It was received well on fanfiction.net, but I had hoped to broaden its audience now to AO3. I hope you enjoy.





	1. Part One: Solace

The field tent rustled around him lightly in the midnight breeze as he lay on his back, his arms crossed above his head on the cot. There was a mild chill in the air, but Solas was cozy and content under the Great Bear Furs. It wasn't the same as being able to hear the leaves swishing above him while he slumbered beneath twisted branches, but if he concentrated, his sharp, elven ears could just hear them over the noise of the thick fabric, flapping periodically like wind catching the sails on a fishing boat. It made for a nice change on occasion, sleeping indoors – if one could compare being in a tent as anything remotely close to indoors.

For many years, he could rest soundly against a gnarled tree root in the mid morning sun after a night of traversing a mountainside, or curl up on the cobbled floors of an ancient ruin despite the crumbled stone pressing into his side, and in his dreams he would explore the Fade through thinning areas in the Veil, made possible by long-forgotten tragic events of the past, wearing at the barrier between the waking world and the realm of the spirits. Some small part of him missed the solitude, the freedom he'd had walking and dreaming whenever he wanted, but he had not been free in the literal sense of the word… Not for a very long time.

He let out a long-held breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a hand, shutting his eyes tightly with exhaustion for a moment before he relaxed again, staring up at the bar holding the tent roof in place. Once this business with Corypheus and the orb was completed, hopefully he wouldn't need to keep searching, forever doomed to look for a way to put things back the way they had been. There might be a way to reset the pieces on the board this time, and his days of lonely purpose would be at an end. _Another chance to make things right again_ , he thought anxiously. This was the closest he'd ever been to reversing the damage before, and it was tempting to convince himself that his plans would all work out in the end, that nothing would come along and make his noble struggle for naught, but time after time, one thing or another had always gone wrong. He had made crucial mistakes along the way, some seemingly minor at the time, and some serious, but all devastating in their effects, far-reaching as they were. Still, he couldn't get ahead of himself; if he concentrated on each step individually as it came, there was less of an opportunity for error. _Do not lose sight of it now when you are this close, Solas_. His jaw set in determination. _Solas_. Pride.

But something had already gone off-script.

And then, a new player had entered this delicate game.

The Dalish woman had walked out of a rift in the Fade physically, which seemed impossible enough, for those that entered the Fade in that manner rarely emerged again intact, let alone survived to tell the tale, or so he'd previously thought. Against all odds, though, she had lain unconscious for days, bearing a mark on her hand that coursed with a devastatingly familiar magical energy that he had asked those whom imprisoned her for permission to study at length. Solas had believed that the prisoner would soon die, and the mark with her, thereby crushing any hopes he'd harboured of sealing the breach in the sky that drew spirits out into the waking world. And yet she had lived, miraculously enough, and through her, he'd been graciously gifted another shot at success.

Over the many months in service to the Inquisition, he had imparted what knowledge he could to her, but it was only ever enough for what could be deemed reasonable for a wandering apostate of forty-odd years to have learned in that short a time. Any more and his story might be called into question, and he would have no other choice but to flee into hiding once more until the search for him had died down. Still, she had been receptive to him thus far; more than he'd anticipated, in truth. At first, he had enjoyed the seemingly harmless banter and flirtations they exchanged, and it was intriguing to indulge in such fancies as he hadn't experienced since he was a much younger, more cocksure man. When things took a turn for the official, though, he had paused to give it more thought. There were decisions to carefully weigh, namely whether it was even feasible for him to carry on an intimate relationship, given that it would mean always holding his true self back from her.

Was she as naive as he found the rest of the scattered Dalish clans to be, or was he severely underestimating her ability to understand the information he conveyed to her in private? She had shown a wisdom and a subtlety he hadn't seen in _Vhen'alas_ in what must have been many ages, by now. It was dangerous to entertain the notion that she might actually accept who he was… _No_ , he corrected himself, _not a who, but a what_. He blanched slightly at the sudden flash in his mind's eye of her beautiful face, contorted in horror, disgust, hatred… for him, and all he had done.

Breathing deeply to stave off the blood rushing through his veins, he forced the lungful of air out the side of his pressed lips and peered out of the corner of his eye at his rucksack on the floor. Solas couldn't remember a time when his mind was so plagued with thoughts before sleep. He wasn't used to this level of anxiety; it made it too difficult to drift off, and that was what he most –

He'd forgotten about meeting Lavellan. She was probably already waiting for him in the Fade.

" _Fenedhis_ ," he swore irritably, sitting up in his cot, his arm propped up on a bent knee. Solas ran his hand over his smooth scalp, wiping the cold sweat from his brow. Even as he said it, though, he knew it would be all right. There was no semblance of time in the Fade; she wouldn't notice his absence unless he neglected to surface in her dreams at all, tonight.

Pushing the furs away, he straightened his tunic. He never took it off aside from washing it, but it was perfectly clean and protected under his light armour. It was not as though he wore his day clothes to bed; rather, he wore his nightclothes during the day. Well, and why not? If he was going to be dispensing red templars, casting spells and traipsing through all of Thedas at any given moment, it helped to be comfortable, at least. So what if Dorian thought he was the best dressed mage in their band of castaways; let him bicker about that with Madame de Fer, for he paid it no mind. He moved his hand from the top of his head to the side and scratched at his earlobe in irritation. This wasn't like him at all, especially when it came time to meditate in preparation to enter the Fade. He needed fresh air, if only for a moment, to give himself a chance to clear his thoughts.

He left off wrapping his feet before stepping out into the crisp night air, and he sucked the sweet stuff into his lungs like a parched halla gulping spring water on a hot day. He hadn't realised how stifling the air was in that damned tent. Glaring about in the dark, he located a few of the night guards huddled around the campfire, chatting about home and family. Things were quiet for them on the hill, tonight. He'd helped to clear the plains around camp all day, and the immediate area had reverted back to its depressingly grave-like state. His spirit quieted then in silent reverence for the land he'd once known it to be. The land of the _Elvhen_ , of his People…

 _There_. That feeling of responsibility, burrowed deep within his spirit. He welcomed its poignant reminder of his purpose, here. It was crucial that he always remember the part he had once played in shaping the world into the horror it was now, even if the Dalish didn't recall the story any longer... Even if they'd convinced themselves that the false histories they passed down through oral tradition were anything close to the truth.

He knew better. And he would set things right. _Soon_.

Closing his weary blue eyes and breathing deeply once more, he tied back one of the tent's flaps to allow for more ventilation in the enclosed space. Then he wiped his feet on the mat, stepped inside, and settled back down beneath the Great Bear furs. After that, sleep came easily.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

" _Ma halani_ ," she screamed.

Lavellan ran until her breath became ragged and her lungs were fit to burst, but the great beast was still breathing down her neck, snarling with hunger and rage. Her legs were not long enough to make the leaps and bounds she was attempting through the barren landscape. It had gained on her considerably, despite her best efforts to evade the black, shadowy creature of fur, fangs, and powerful muscle. Finding a steep uptake in the area, she raced as fast as she could to it, scrambling desperately to reach the top in the fleeting hope it couldn't follow her there. The tips of her fingers had gone bloody with clawing at the jagged, rocky surface.

"Someone _help_ ," she shouted, though she could barely hear herself over the growling of the beast, let alone anyone that may have been nearby. Her bare feet searched vainly for an outcrop to find purchase, but her hand slipped, causing her to lose her feeble grip and skid roughly to the bottom, straight into the enormous paws of the predator.

She was bathed in the hot, sticky breath coming from its slack-jawed mouth, which seemed impossibly large enough to swallow her whole. The guttural rumbling vibrated through her small body like the impact of a blunt weapon. Retching at the stench of death deep in the beast's throat, she turned her face and steeled herself for the inevitable. When it clapped its jaws shut, licking its chops in anticipation of the meal ahead, Lavellan registered her own voice crying out in terror. She hadn't even noticed, not that there was time to do anything more than scold herself for not facing her end with more dignity than this.

It wasn't the prospect of death that frightened her – she'd join her ancestors, or the Creators, or the Maker, depending on who was right about the afterlife, if there was one, and none of those notions seemed so bad to her... It was the dying part that she wasn't too thrilled to experience. And this kind of death in particular was going to hurt, no doubt about it; she could only pray that it would be quick.

The shadow lunged forward with a roar, teeth bearing down upon her, tongue ready to scoop her into the grumbling belly of the beast. She screamed a final time and closed her eyes, bracing herself.

All was silent around her.

Her breath rattled in her throat, a whimper escaping her quivering lips. Eyes tightly shut, she surmised that it must have happened... She must be dead. Was she? She was far too afraid to open her eyes and check. She hadn't felt a thing… Was that how it was for everyone?

" _Lethallan_?"

Her eyes shot open in surprise. Kneeling beside her, a man – an elf, she observed specifically – held a hand out to her. Staring openly, her large green eyes watered suddenly. "A-am I… dead?" She stammered, her small voice shaking.

"No," his eyes smiled sympathetically, "you need not worry yourself; it was but a dream. I have dispelled it, though, and it is over now." He appeared to reconsider that before adding, "Well, no it isn't. But that portion of the dream is, whatever it was… Stand, _lethallan_."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "A dream?" She asked, taking his hand and allowing him to help her to her feet. There seemed to be a haze around her mind, and she tried to shake it loose with no success. The elven man placed his hands on her cheeks to still her head, and he waved a hand in front of her face, a blue mist shimmering before her. It gradually melted her confusion, as though the sun had come out to burn off the lingering morning fog.

"Better?" He asked, a look of expectation written on his face.

Lavellan blinked twice, and her memory returned. "Solas," she breathed, "it's you!" Throwing her arms around his torso, she hugged him gratefully, flooded with relief. "What happened?"

"I'm not entirely sure," he admitted, his voice lifting a bit at the tail end of his statement. It always lifted like that when he had found an opening to educate people on the goings on in the Fade. "The nightmare was your own making. I cannot see it, as what you fear is not the same as what I fear. The spirits feed off of the emotions and thoughts of the dreamers passing through. They echo what they see, what they hear in your mind. It is their way of attempting to understand," he explained. "If you are particularly susceptible, the more aggressive ones will manifest your greatest fears. It takes a wealth of control to guard your thoughts from those who would exploit them - that's not at all different from the waking world," Solas added sardonically. "The only real difference is that, here, those things cannot harm you, _vhenan_."

He patted her back and gestured to where he had found her. "I came upon you huddled next to the rock, there. Nothing was with you but a spirit," he reassured her, shrugging his shoulder as though this was an everyday occurrence; to him, it likely was."I dispelled the surrounding area, and the spirit departed, losing interest." He was almost proud of himself, but it only befitted his namesake.

He pulled her back at arm's length, and with his thumb and forefinger, took her chin and lifted it so that he could study her face . "You are still haunted by what you have seen," he observed, the skin between his brows wrinkling in empathy. "I apologise that I was not here sooner, then. I should have arrived more quickly. I… had trouble sleeping."

She laughed softly despite herself. " _You_? _You_ had trouble sleeping? That's… new territory for you, isn't it?"

"It is unusual, yes," he smiled faintly. There was something behind his eyes which piqued her curiosity, but if the information wasn't forthcoming, she thought it best to let it go, for his sake. Something was undoubtedly troubling him, but he wasn't ready to talk about it, yet. "Come, let's take a stroll," he suggested. "You need to clear your mind of what you experienced before we can explore further." He took her hand in his and they walked companionably through the landscape of her nightmare, for a time.

Seeing her dream in this light gave her a new perspective. It was still barren, as cracked and lifeless as before, but no longer as threatening. She'd always seen it this way, she supposed, but had never really had a chance to examine it, mainly because there were other things on her mind - or, more aptly, on her tail.

"This is a recurring nightmare I've had since childhood," she told him, "though I never really got a good look at it... Too busy being chased."

"It may help you to stand in it for a while," Solas advised, slowing their pace somewhat and looking into the oddly brown and yellow tinted sky. "If you become more familiar with the surroundings, perhaps next time the dream comes to you, you will recognise it for what it is before you are overcome with fear."

She felt slightly embarrassed at that. "I wasn't overcome, I was just… reacting naturally, to try to save myself from what I _thought_ was real."

"Of course," he corrected himself, his head lowering in a slight bow of apology. "Forgive me, _lethallan_ ; I did not mean to imply you are weak. And even if you were in the moment, it's perfectly understandable to react as such... I hope you can excuse my poor manners."

"It's all right, Solas; no harm done," she smiled, squeezing his hand in reassurance.

He turned to her then, wrapping his arms around her in a sweet embrace. Pressing the blood writing on her forehead against him, she tucked a stray lock of her blonde hair behind her pointed ear, and turned her head to press it against his chest. She was surprised to hear his heartbeat there; after all, if this was the Fade, then this wasn't his physical body, and he shouldn't have a heartbeat... Then again, he shouldn't have warm arms and a solid chest, either. Perhaps she heard his heart because she knew it ought to be there, or because he willed it, and it was just so. Not that it mattered now, though she was certain Solas had thought endlessly about this very thing before. _Best not to ask, or we'll be talking theoretical Fade physiology for hours_ , she thought, amused at the idea. She'd have to approach the subject with him around their companions, just so she could see their eyes roll back into their skulls as they prepared themselves for the sheer boredom of it all, praying for bandits or bears to mercifully end their long suffering.

"Would it help you to discuss it?" He asked her suddenly, cutting through her musings.

"What?" She blurted, startled. Could he hear her unspoken thoughts here? She pulled away for a moment to look up at him, her eyebrows raised.

"The dream," he clarified, seeing her confusion plainly. "Your nightmare, I mean."

"Oh," she laughed, "I thought that… never mind. Anyway, you want to know my deepest, darkest fear, do you?" Lavellan smirked.

Solas let out a small chuckle. "Well, when you put it that way, it almost sounds _rude_ to have asked," he teased her. "Perhaps it's unnecessary. I only thought that if you spoke to someone about it, it would help you to understand it, or acknowledge it. Facing the fear, in a sense."

"If I talk about it here, won't a demon pick up on it and conjure the nightmare again?"

He smiled softly and used a free hand to cast a shimmering ward around them both. "There," he reassured her. "Now you can't come to harm."

She held him to herself again, sighing out her tension. His arms rested around her as he landed a kiss on the parting of her hair. "I guess it _is_ silly," she started with a wince, "but I've had this terrible dream since I was just a _len_. The womenfolk of my clan used to frighten us little ones with tales of him when we misbehaved, and I had _more_ than my fair share of…"

She felt Solas stiffen in her arms, almost as though he was struck with an electrical force, frozen in place, but alive with currents flowing violently through and from him. He stepped away from her abruptly, a look of utter shock over all his features.

"Solas?" Lavellan asked, alarmed. "Solas, what's wrong?" She looked around, half expecting the ward to have failed and a demon to have manifested her nightmare just behind her. Finding nothing there, she turned back to him. "What's _wrong_?"

His face fell blank just as suddenly as it had contorted, but his body didn't quite relax enough. He was trying to regain composure, to represent himself to her as though nothing had gone amiss, but he was failing miserably. "You…" He was breathless. Whatever had happened had knocked the wind right out of him. "You dreamt of Fen'Harel?"

It wasn't a question. It was stated more as a fact than anything else, but one he couldn't believe he was hearing, nonetheless.

Lavellan stared at him openly, eyes wide with alertness and apprehension. "The Dread Wolf, yes… It's not that uncommon, is it? I don't see how it should have garnered that reaction from you, though."

Solas was unable to look at her momentarily, instead turning halfway away so she could see him only in profile, closing his eyes. The landscape around them transformed, instantly lush with lively, green foliage, twisting trees, flowering embriums, and fluttering, chirping birds. The air was considerably cooler and easier to breathe here _. He must come here to be at peace,_ she realised.

He opened his eyes then and walked away from her swiftly to a nearby stream he'd thought into existence. She watched cautiously as he cupped his hands under the surface and brought the water up to his face, splashing himself. Another cupful he doused over his head, pearls of fresh water spilling over his smooth scalp. For a long moment, he continued to sit motionless, staring out into the high branches of the trees across the rushing creek.

Not many things took Solas by surprise - not that Lavellan had ever seen, anyway - but now, her skin prickled and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Her hackles were raised, for something was dreadfully wrong with him; she'd clearly struck a nerve with her revelation. Slowly, she started for him, but he rose then and turned to her. The broken look carved into his face sent a chill through her, and at this point, she thought she could afford to hazard a guess as to what was disturbing him.

"You've had the dream, too," she said, her voice raised slightly so he could hear her over the flowing water. "You and I, we both share this nightmare…"

"Not in so many words... but in a sense," he replied, giving her no more than that. He seemed to look past her eyes and into her soul just then. His composure reset, he sighed and walked the short trek back until he stood before her once more, though not as closely as he had previously. His eyes were filled with a sorrow he couldn't seem to find the words to convey. After a few attempts to speak, his mouth simply closed, unable to express his emotions or do them justice. All the while, Lavellan stood motionless under his woeful gaze.

" _Ir a_ _belas, ma vhenan_ ," he apologised.

"You're _sorry_?" She asked, incredulity dripping from her tone. "For what? For reacting so strangely? Solas, it's just a damn _nightmare_! How is any of it your fault?!"

He stepped toward her then, his hand reaching for hers, but she took one step away and he forced himself to halt his progress, letting her look at him critically as his arm fell back to his side. "Lavellan – "

"Don't! Just… Deep breaths..." Her anger seemed to subside as she breathed slowly, the hot blood draining from her head and leaving her feeling woozy. She looked about herself for a place to sit and recover, but nothing suited. With the wave of a hand, Solas conjured a tree stump from nowhere, and she muttered her thanks as she plunked down.

He was moving more freely than he had before, or perhaps her head was spinning worse than she'd thought. No, he was definitely pacing in front of her slowly, like a caged animal searching for an opening... or an escape.

" _Listen_ to me, _vhenan_ ," he implored her, an edge in his voice. He closed his eyes in frustration and removed the edge. Turning and kneeling before her, he grasped her hands in his in a vice grip. "What you saw," he attempted to reach her, "that nightmarish vision of a terrible wolf, that – It's just not _real_."

She was quickly becoming confused again. "I'm aware of that…"

"No, I – " He was having some sort of difficulty explaining what he wanted to convey to her. Exasperated, he let out a ragged sigh. His eyes closed, and after a long moment he was once again fully composed, though something had changed within him, like a growing sadness. "What the Dalish told you... the stories of Fen'Harel, the conniving trickster who selfishly locked the gods away… "

"Let me guess," she finished for him, "was that all wrong, too? We seem to have gotten a lot wrong… It'd be a shorter list to say what we got right."

Solas might have snorted with mirth under different circumstances, but his brow furrowed painfully instead. "You see, _ma_ _vhenan_ ," he explained in such hushed tones that she had to lean forward slightly to hear him, "you must understand that you have nothing to fear from those old tales... _Nothing_. You need not be afraid that the Dread Wolf is going to come to you in the night and…" His eyes searched her face, at a loss for words as the thought faded away.

"And… steal my soul?" Levallan finished for him.

Solas gazed at her with such hurt that it practically tore the heart from her chest to see it. For the life of her, she couldn't comprehend why her nightmare anguished him so, and it had her worrying deeply for him. Love and compassion enveloped her in a warm embrace, and before she had decided whether to act upon the impulse, she fell into his arms and kissed him insistently. He reciprocated with a desperate need, wrapping his arms around her so tightly that she couldn't pull free, even if she'd wanted to.

After a time, their lips parted, and he rested his forehead lightly against hers, both of them kneeling on the soft, cool forest floor of Solas' dreamscape. "Fen'Harel could never steal my soul," she whispered to him, her hand resting on the back of his neck and kneading softly at the base of his skull. "I already gave it to _you_ , Solas..."

He blinked in astonishment at the admission and swallowed around the hard lump in his throat threatening to choke off his words. " _Ar lath ma_ ," he managed to say before kissing her again.

If a kiss was capable of possessing a person, Solas had managed to do just such a thing to Lavellan. Holding her to him, he arched her back until her body lay sprawled on the grass. She pulled him down with her as the moment swept them up in a frenzy. It seemed an age had passed between them before Solas pulled back to look her fully in the face. There was love behind his eyes, but something else more wild, more intense was at the forefront now, and she thought she could see his mind settling on something.

He laid down next to her slowly, brushing his lips against hers and playfully nuzzling her, turning her head by nudging his nose against her cheekbone so he could take her earlobe between his teeth. She heard his shallow breathing loudly in such close proximity, to the point where it started to resemble light panting; all the little noises coming from within him surged through her. He licked at her neck so gently that it tickled to the point of absurdity, then bit down in rough play, mixing pain and pleasure in a way she'd never experienced.

Just then, he stopped abruptly, resting his head on the nape of her neck and willing himself to catch his trembling breath. "No," he breathed to himself as much to her, "I cannot do this… This is not how it was supposed to happen."

Lavellan turned to face him, a deeply suspicious look in her eye. "Solas, don't do it," she touched his arm in reassurance. "I _want_ you... You're thinking too much, just let it – "

" _Wake up_ ," he commanded her.


	2. Chapter 2

Lavellan sat up with a gasp in the claustrophobic darkness of her private tent in the Inqusition's encampment. The insulation was so thick that she could barely see the campfire beyond her door, but she knew the night watch kept it roaring just outside. Frustrated, she dragged a hand through her bed hair and threw her legs over the side of her cot to stomp out her annoyance, which didn't have the desired effect, as she'd forgotten it was only about half a foot from the tent floor. " _Fenedhis_ ," she hissed, fuming.

She stood up quickly, promptly banging her head loudly against the hollow, low hanging steel bar bracing the tent ceiling. She yelped in surprise, a hand on the sore spot, and stumbled angrily out of the door flaps, her standard issue blanket tangled around her middle. "By the Dread… _fucking_ … _Wolf!_ " She growled, ripping off the green, woolen trap and throwing it back in the tent as hard as she could in aggravation. At least in her clumsy escape she hadn't wandered out in her smallclothes; luckily, she'd worn the basic components of her mage robes to bed.

After standing rigid as a plank, her fists clenched until her knuckles went white, she huffed and stormed over to the tent adjacent to her own with one door flap tied back, ignoring the startled looks from the scouts standing watch along the perimeter. When she reached the door, she had every intention of dragging Solas outside and demanding to know why he had called everything to a halt before, but instead, two hands flew at her from out of the blackness within, gripped her forearms firmly, and pulled her bodily inside, plunging her into the dark. She landed on her back atop the Great Bear furs of his cot with a cry of surprise, staring up at his silhouette until her eyes quickly adjusted, his strong hands still clutching her arms and holding her down.

Solas leaned in close to her face, his eyes locked with hers as he whispered in a scolding tone, " _What_ did I just tell you about those silly old stories, _vhenan_?"

Her green eyes shone brightly, reflecting the fire just beyond the door. "That the Dread Wolf doesn't exist?" She answered pensively, still trying to catch her breath. She shifted herself on the furs to test how much freedom of movement she had, but it wasn't much. Her body started to tremble involuntarily in his grasp.

The ghost of a laugh escaped his lips before he took his hands away and placed them on the furs beneath her, lowering his body until he pressed against her, pinning her down. "I said no such thing," he corrected, returning to the ear he'd only previously tasted in the Fade.

Lavellan's blood thundered through her and a surge of adrenaline flooded her system. She shoved with all her might against the right side of his body, upsetting his balance and allowing her a small opening to roll him onto the tent floor. She moved quickly to straddle him, catching him halfway in the process of sitting back up and forcefully pushing him flat. The anchor in her hand sparked to life in a threatening display of power, stinging her palm slightly. Solas grinned up at her in approval, laughing soundlessly.

Settling down on his hips, she studied him closely. "Take off your tunic," she said, suddenly curious. "I want to see you."

His chest rose and fell slowly, and he rested his left hand on her thigh. Sitting up effortlessly, he took her hand, coursing with Veil-green energy, in his free one. Solas raised it to his lips, his eyes closed, and the anchor's translucent waves passed harmlessly through his face. Looking up at the elven woman whom had gained the upper hand, his eyes smiled. "Is this an order from the Inquisitor?" He teased her, smirking.

Her brows raised, she stared down her nose at him, putting on airs. "I _command_ you to remove your tunic," Lavellan huffed with mock authority. "Are you questioning the Herald of Andraste?" She couldn't keep the act going, though, and she fought the smile that crept over her.

The corner of his mouth turned up and his eyes drifted over her features, finally resting on her inviting mouth. His hands ran the length of her thighs slowly, repeatedly testing her boundaries for limitations, moving further inward and upward with every agonisingly sensitive stroke. Head tilting to one side thoughtfully as she made no objections, he bit his lower lip and once again met her gaze questioningly. Her breathing sounded shallow and ragged to her ears.

Beneath her, Solas brought his knees up high enough to slide her forward, bringing her nose to nose with him as his hands moved to cup her round buttocks, one cheek in each hand as he squeezed, sighing in satisfaction as he did so. "I am an apostate, Inquisitor," Solas answered her with a whisper, "and as such, I am not yours to command. I do all things of my own volition."

Lavellan draped her arms around his shoulders as she began swaying her hips back and forth against him. He looked down at this motion, his hands joining in with her hips as she moved seductively, helping her along. The new sigh he made was different from the last, quick and breathless, and before long a telltale stiffness began to make itself known, pressing urgently against her. For an intense moment, they closed their eyes and simply felt blindly with their bodies, hearts hammering in unison. His forehead rested against her chest, a hand travelling up to find her breast resting in his palm, fingers kneading it gently over her clothes.

"Well, if I can't control you, and you can't control me," she reasoned, her voice trembling, "which one of us is wearing the pants in this situation?" Her fingernails clawed up his back quickly, causing Solas to suck in his breath sharply between clenched teeth. He dug his own nails across her backside in turn, the muscles in his arm tensing as he did so.

"In all likelihood, neither of us, soon enough," he answered in all seriousness, finding her mouth with his own and biting her lower lip softly. "But not here," he almost pleaded with her. "I have a sneaking suspicion that if we stay here much longer, we'll wake up the whole camp."

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

It took more time and effort than either of them had anticipated, but eventually, Solas and Lavellan were able to tear themselves away from each other long enough to get dressed in their separate tents. Amazingly, they managed to sneak away from the campsite one at a time without so much as a single guard noticing them. Solas waited a few minutes in the brush for her to follow before he caught sight of her making her way slowly toward him. Commander Cullen wasn't going to be pleased about this; he was certain of it. He told himself that they would be back before the relief shift started in a few hours, so as not to raise questions or eyebrows for this small act of rebellion.

He led her through the darkness by the hand as easily as if it had been full light out, the two of them travelling single file on the narrow path. His pace was beginning to outmatch hers at this point in their brisk walk, but he was nevertheless impressed at her ability to move so silently through this rocky, wood-strewn terrain. As First to the Keeper of her Dalish clan, Lavellan had studied many subjects, she'd said, from stealth to archery, to hand to hand combat, to her clan's personal history and the gods they worshipped, so she was able to match his noiseless progress for a while, but after a time she slowed considerably.

Looking around cautiously first, she tugged on his sleeve. "Solas," she whispered to get his attention, probably intending to ask where he was leading her. He slowed to a stop soundlessly, reaching back to grip her hand tightly, and kept his head and ears raised in alertness, completely motionless as he listened to the sounds of the nocturnal wildlife going about their normal business around them. She was about to try again, but he raised a finger to silence her, focused on movement to their left.

As she turned to locate what he'd already sensed, a solitary, young halla leapt out from a small grouping of trees, frolicking as if she hadn't a care in the world, her glistening white fur gleaming in the moonlight as the rays came through the treetops to illuminate her. She danced through a narrow passageway between cliff faces ahead of them, never once catching their scent. Thoroughly enchanted, she looked up at him in awe and wonder when he glanced back at her, having known she would react in such a way and not wanting to miss the look on her face. He smiled knowingly and began the journey forward again, slower this time.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a dilapidated ruin constructed on the riverbank. Solas kicked loose stones away, his feet in traditional elven wraps, toes left exposed to gain a better foothold on the ground. Looking down to make sure he didn't step on anything sharp as they climbed down to the grounds, he sighed heavily, the first noise he'd made in nearly half an hour. "Do you know what this place is, _vhenan_?" He asked her in a low, reflective tone.

"It looks to be an elven ruin, by the architecture," she wagered. "I came with the others to close a rift here, earlier, but I didn't get that good a look at the place, at the time… Does this place hold some significance for you?" She stood next to him, looking out over the crumbling stonework around them. The air tingled here, a surprisingly warm sensation on the skin, and he felt more than saw her notice the shift in the strength of the Veil.

"Yes, once upon a - " He caught himself suddenly, looking away casually to reset his features as he feigned a cough. "I've heard it called the Ancient Baths. I imagine back in ancient times, though," he added, hoping a small jest would distract from his minor slip, "it was simply known as the Baths." He grinned at her then and took off lightly down the stairs to the roofless enclosure that led to open water.

She followed him, smiling and shaking her head in mock disapproval. "Oh, 'the Baths'. Yes, I see," she snorted, turning her eyes to the night sky as if she could glean from the stars a vision of what they once illuminated here, so long ago. "Do you know much of what went on here? I assume bathing took place, at some point."

He cast a glance back at her and nodded briefly. "Yes, well," he shrugged dismissively, "only through memories buried in the Fade, of course. The People used to come here and spend much of their leisure time lounging about on these very grounds. Some would spend many years here, relaxing and indulging themselves in some of the more extravagant pleasures in _Elvhenan_ , at that time."

" _Years_?" Lavellan asked, taken aback. "Didn't they have... I don't know, _things_ to do?"

"What, like saving the world from total destruction? Nothing so pressing, no. Immortals such as they had… time on their hands, shall we say; perhaps even too much. Although, in the end, not nearly enough time," he admitted sullenly, scratching at his neck where the high collar of his tunic sometimes chafed. He was diving headlong into another history lesson, and Lavellan was holding back an amused chuckle with some difficulty. If she let him, he could go on educating her in the ways of the People, and when she said nothing, he eagerly stole the opportunity.

"This area here," he indicated the grassy shore with a wave of both hands, turning his back on her momentarily, "is where they used to lie out in the sun for decades at a time, or even centuries, sometimes in groups – sometimes nude, as well, that was quite interesting to discover." He placed his hands on his hips, studying the ruins they had cleared mere days ago of demons and red templars. "Nudity was not taboo then, as it is now. The upper classes and nobility would sleep and bathe, and sleep again, all the while being waited upon by their servants, who wore nothing but elaborate wreaths on their crowns to indicate their station. Don't misunderstand, though, they were not always undressed. When they ate, they would clothe themselves in fine silks and fabrics so rich, I can think of no modern equivalent that compares. There remains nothing of its kind in all Thedas, today. But the food, that is another story, and fascinating in its own right! They dined on only the rarest cuts of…" As he turned around to face her again, a nostalgic smile overtaking his mouth, his heart jumped to greet his throat, the remainder of his impromptu speech trailing away.

Lavellan stood in the knee-high water, her back to him, spreading ripples through the quiet stillness as she walked further out. Her clothes, piled neatly on the shore, were only a short distance away from where he stood. He had been so caught up in his own enthusiasm that he had momentarily forgotten the entire reason for their coming here in the first place. _No matter_ , he thought, dropping anything more he would have said about the ruins without hesitation.

He yearned to join her, but he found moving wasn't coming as easily as it ought to. His eyes travelled the soft lines of her bare back in the full moonlight as she waded through the water until it rose to her hips. She was so… Solas found himself at a loss for words to describe her to the extent her beauty necessitated. The sight left him speechless, and the effect she had on him just then was slightly jarring, if not alarming, but regardless he felt time itself slow around him, nature still, all the world passing into nonexistence as nothing else moved at present but this intriguing Dalish elf in the water.

Solas pulled his leather necklace over his head and tossed it aside aimlessly, smoothing his hands over his scalp roughly and running them down to his neck, weaving his fingers together there as he cast his gaze back to Lavellan. He asked himself how he had let it get this far, from setting out to try to save the world, to studying a magical mark embedded in the palm of an unconscious suspect, all the way to this moment, which saw him standing on a quiet bank in the middle of the night, in the land of his lost and forgotten People, staring at a woman he'd unwittingly grown to care for so bittersweetly. It ate at him, knowing that the closeness they shared threatened to disavow his purpose completely and swallow him whole. _Maybe just a small taste wouldn't hurt_ , he relented inwardly, feeling his chest burst with the unshakable urge to touch her fair skin, to possess her lithe body, and to…

 _No more thoughts_ , he told himself sternly. _Go_.

Solas untied his sash and footwraps, removed his vest, tunic, and leggings, stepping into the water quietly as he made his way out to her. She caught his approach and craned her neck to peer at him over a narrow shoulder. "I'm still listening," she said with a lift at the corner of her lips, referring to his spontaneous lecture.

He reached out with his hands tentatively, touching his fingertips lightly to her hips on either side and running them up slowly. She shivered slightly from the chill it gave her, and her small hands came out of the cool, clear water to meet his as he traced his way back down again. Lacing her fingers with his, she pulled him closer and wrapped his arms about her middle. He obliged, enfolding himself around her and holding her close.

"Then listen well, _vhenan_ ," he bid her gently. She lifted a hand to his ear to trace the shape of it with her fingers as he lowered his head to lay a line of tender kisses from her shoulder, up her long, perfect neck, to the base of her ear, where he spoke to her softly. "You have shaken every belief I ever formed about the Dalish, about duty, about strength. You've turned me on my head... No," he amended himself, moving his arms up to hug her possessively, "it's as though my ideas were the wrong way round to begin with, and when you stepped out of the Fade that morning, you put everything right-side up again… And suddenly, everything has _changed_ , after so long…" The passion in his voice threatened to cut him off, but he swallowed the lump in his throat and began again, "I never imagined I might be so fortunate as to encounter one such as you, in all my…"

"Shhh, Solas," she quieted him reassuringly, "you're too hard on yourself. Be selfish, for once…" Turning in his arms to face him, Lavellan took his hands in her own under the surface, and her eyes met his with meaning, the smirk from earlier still painted delicately to her full lips, its nature somewhat changed. Their eyes saw each other fully for the first time, each of them memorising the sight, honest and bared to one another.

Solas' shoulders were broader than those of any other male elf Lavellan had ever met, and he saw her take note of it almost immediately. His body was graceful and well-built, the moon casting shadows where his muscles swelled under his taut skin. And she was far from the fragile flower other Dalish women had appeared to be. She was toned, scarred in places, battle-hardened, and her _vallaslin_ for the goddess Mythal went further down than he'd expected, tracing rooted patterns down her neck and branching over her collar bones. The curves and lines of her body made him ache to hold her, and he took a step forward with a shallow breath, on the very edge of total abandon.

"I should tell you," he cautioned her, his voice flooding with urgency, "that it has been… a long time since I've been this intimate with a woman... and I'm concerned that…" His eyes met hers once again as he gathered her to him. "My Heart, once I start this, I am not going to be gentle about it, and I make no apologies for it. I will try to hold back if you ask it of me, but I can't promise you – "

Lavellan raised her arms and wove her fingers together behind his neck, lifting herself effortlessly underwater to wrap her legs around his hips. He held her close enough to feel her breath brush his face. "Solas," she demanded, her eyes focused on his lips as she squeezed him tightly around his middle, "stop talking." Her mouth met his in a fervent kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth amorously.

He needed no more than that. Pressing her to him, Solas strode out of the water, using only his memory to guide them over the bank to the crumbling ruin wall. Her legs clinging tightly to him, he pushed her back against the cold stone and manoeuvred her so her knees bent over his forearms, his hands pressed firmly to the wall. She gripped his shoulders to steady herself, fingernails stabbing down into his naked flesh. Finally, he gave her a moment, allowing her with a glance one last opportunity to change her mind. When her eyes dared him to go on, he took it, and without needing to look, he slid home.

She gasped loudly from the shock of his entry, her eyes clenched tightly shut from the discomfort it brought, but she didn't give any indication for him to pull away. Belatedly, he remembered that there was one other thing of which he'd neglected to warn her. He tried earnestly to give her a moment longer to recover, but it was too late, his hips straining enough as it was to remain steady as long as he already had. _She will get used to it if you keep moving,_ he reassured himself, and purposefully, he pulled back and thrust again.

Her initial cries were those of twinging pain, and Solas worried briefly if he should stop for her sake, but after repeating the action several more times, her pain had all but subsided, and she decided to inflict some back. Her fingernails tore down his chest roughly, one red scratch drawing small droplets of blood. He grunted with pleasure and pressed firmly against her, taking the nape of her neck between his teeth as he bit down, which caused her loud moan to echo through the enclosure. Lavellan's legs began to spasm with each hard impact as she clawed at his back and shoulders with a primal hunger, the sting there growing with her intensity. Changing tactics, he picked her up forcefully and went to his knees, lowering her to the dew-kissed grass.

Without warning, she pulled him down quickly by the neck and threw her weight to roll him beneath her similar to the way she had before, straddling him. She was determined to be in control, this much was clear, but he wasn't prepared to give up his advantage quite yet. He used the superior strength of his arms to hold her hips still and continue the rhythm himself for a time as she pulled halfheartedly at his fingers to pry him loose. Though she made these feeble protests, her voice betrayed that she felt otherwise, and she arched so far back that he had to catch her by raising his knees higher. She laid against his thighs and relented momentarily, eyes looking up to the heavens as she clenched involuntarily around him, her hands leaving his to explore her own body. The sight spurred him on, bringing forth a breathy groan from his throat.

With his grip momentarily loosened in ecstasy, Lavellan grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the ground on either side of his head, his elbows bent like a chained prisoner. Glaring, she pushed down on his pelvis hard with her own, indicating that he'd had his fun, but it was now her turn to take the reins. Relinquishing his dominance reluctantly, he lay motionless in surrender, though she remained wary of him, waiting to be absolutely sure he understood her clearly.

He tried not to grin at how pleased he was with her determination, but he couldn't resist, and a brief chuckle escaped along with it. Lavellan must have misinterpreted this as mockery, though, for she became visibly more adamant to put him in his place, moving excruciatingly slowly over him, obviously preferring this over his more vigorous approach. He uttered a single, quiet moan, closing his eyes and drawing his brows together in concentration, willing himself to simply lie back and enjoy this exquisite torture. She expertly slid over him, his every nerve ending heightened, and he struggled to restrain himself to the point of agony from the desire to throw her under him and take her roughly, but he persevered to prove that he could be trusted to listen to and obey her whims.

Once she was satisfied that he had fully given over the reins, she released her hold on his wrists and continued her slow, deliberate pace for a time, her hands on her thighs for added support. His arms finally free, he laid one loosely over his chest, the other hand covering his eyes and forehead to ease the strong compulsion to move. He listened for a direction from her that never came, and when she stilled her hips, he stole a glance through his fingers to decipher what she was up to.

Pulling his hand away from his face, Lavellan beckoned him to sit up. Solas did so in bemusement, crossing his legs beneath her to offer better support, and paused for a request from her, a command, anything at all. When she merely waited, he wrapped his arms around her waist and sent her a curious expression.

Her eyes met his, unwavering and overflowing with adoration for him. Her palpable emotions poured out of her and slammed into him with a force akin to standing on a dry riverbed before a breaking dam, her eyes sweeping him away and drowning all other impulses he might have entertained. That was all it took; one look from her, and he was completely and utterly under her spell.

"I will do anything you ask of me," he told her truthfully. "Name it, and it will be yours."

Lavellan smiled then and kissed him so sweetly that he reeled mentally. She had battled for every sexual power over him, had demanded his obedience, yet in the end, when he had surrendered all to her, she gave it right back to him in return. _Why?_ He stared at her, stunned into disbelief, and her cheeks flushed as she watched the bafflement dance over his features.

She raised her hand to cup his cheek, stroking it gently with the side of her thumb. "Make love to me, Solas..."

It was a simple enough request, but by speaking it aloud, she had asked so much more than she ever could have with more specific commands. In this very moment, she was giving over her heart, body, and spirit to him.

Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against her chest and lightly kissed the skin between her breasts. He pressed his body to her, moved to silence by her wish, and shifted Lavellan until she laid on her back under the full moon, her light hair pooling in waves around her shoulders. She breathed slowly, her chest rising and falling rhythmically, watching him gaze upon her in all her youthful loveliness.

Could he really do this…? Could he afford to love her in the manner she had asked, and deserved, knowing the intimate bond that might result from it? More importantly, could he risk himself by loving her so completely in return? But after only a moment's hesitation, he realised that he didn't have the luxury of choice, anymore; it had already happened, and there was no denying that now. His plan for the night had shifted dramatically, from wanting to possess her, to needing to protect her; from wanting to rake her body, to needing to ravish it; from wanting to satisfy his lust, to needing to fulfill her.

Swallowing hard, his heart fluttered against his rib cage as he brought himself down to lay next to her. They kissed tenderly, holding each other for what seemed like an eternity and giving of themselves freely. Their bodies communicated on another plane of existence, answering the wordless desires of the other, surpassing anything either of them had ever dreamed. The gentle, unrelenting waves of overwhelming passion washed over them both, carrying them away on a tide of sweet euphoria.

Hours later, Solas lay coated in a thin layer of their mingled sweat on the wet grass, looking up at the stars with a smile on his face that he couldn't erase, his very heart and soul sleeping soundly against his chest.

He was in love with her.

And he let it swallow him whole.


	3. Part Two: Gone

_6 Months Later_

Ambassador Josephine Montilyet stepped lightly through Skyhold's main hall as the servants bustled about clearing empty wine bottles and silverite trays from on and under the long oak tables. The victory celebration had lasted until the small hours of the morning, and as evidenced by the sorry state of the imported Tevinter rugs, it had been a night to remember. She was outwardly pleased with herself that it had all gone swimmingly, despite the last-minute disasters with catering. The Inquisition had triumphed, and the joy and relief everyone felt was only marred by one slight detail.

The Inquisitor had retired entirely too early.

After she'd had a word or two with all of her companions and advisers, Inquisitor Lavellan had stood uncomfortably off to the side, glancing often to the door nearest the throne that led to the Tower Room. After a time she'd clearly deemed reasonable, she had taken her leave, looking extremely out of sorts, to put it kindly. But of course she was; she had just defeated an ancient darkspawn magister whom aspired to godhood, and had torn the world as they knew it apart to achieve it. It must have been exhausting for her, but try explaining that to Orlesian nobles, clamouring to be seen with the elven woman blessed by Andraste herself, and had saved all of Thedas from an unimaginable apocalypse. Those that are used to having their every whim appeased and their demands met with immediate satisfaction do not take kindly to being told no. Even though Josephine wished Lavellan had remained to mingle a while longer, she was well aware that schmoozing and rubbing elbows with elitists was not foremost on her mind.

Walking through the doorway next to the now cold and ashen fireplace nearest the foyer, she found herself gliding into the rotunda. The red, upholstered chair sat undisturbed and empty, the desk sparsely littered with a few books here and there, thick candles set out on silverite trays to contain the dripping wax. The parchments and tomes that had once been stacked neatly by the inkwell were now gone. Presumably, Leliana's people had gathered them for clues to Solas' whereabouts. _That was thorough of her,_ she thought, allowing herself a glimmer of hope that something could be discovered within the many pages. Maybe he'd kept a journal hidden somewhere, though in actuality, if he was as smart as she knew him to be, he would have taken anything like that with him, and she doubted the scholarly elf would be careless enough to leave anything so obvious lying around. Would he have taken it to the battle against Corypheus rather than risk someone finding it if he'd died during the confrontation? Then again perhaps he wouldn't risk putting anything in writing for that exact reason.

She turned her attention to the _elvhen_ murals adorning the walls of the round study. Such artistry, such precision! Josephine couldn't help but admire the fine strokes, the depictions of sweeping political actions taken and battles fought. She wondered if people hundreds of years from now would find Skyhold once more abandoned, only to uncover these very paintings that told the tale of the Inquisition. A shiver spread up her back at the realisation that she had become a permanent fixture in history, someone who would be remembered for being part of something greater than herself.

Crossing the room, she ascended the stairs to the research area of the tower, smiling her greetings to those whose eyes were caught by her golden splendour, and made her way past the mages to the next flight. As she placed her slipper on the first step, though, someone from behind gathered her right arm and linked it with their left in a chivalrous gesture.

"Good morning, Lady Montilyet," Dorian bowed his head slightly. Josephine was unsure if he was mocking her or being genuinely respectful. She decided to leave it be, the two of them making slow progress companionably up to the Spymaster's headquarters. "Lovely party, last night," he complimented. "The little cakes were a nice touch, by the way. Simply divine!"

"You're looking surprisingly fresh-faced this morning, Lord Pavus," Josephine muttered in her sing-song Antivan accent. "After the amount of wine you consumed, I thought you'd still be unconscious at this hour."

"Must be all that Tevinter magic in my blood," he winked. "Keeps me beautiful."

"Of course, Tevinter blood magic. I should have known," she quipped back. Lowering her voice to a mere whisper halfway up the staircase, she turned a suspicious glare on him and halted their ascent. "What is this, Dorian? What are you up to?"

"I know why you're going to visit Nightingale this morning, and I want in," he whispered insistently.

"Oh, _really_ ," she huffed, "and what precisely am I going to see her about, according to you? She is a friend and colleague; this is merely a social call."

"You're far too intelligent to play dumb convincingly," he retorted. Dorian moved to place his hands on her shoulders, but glanced down at her puffed sleeves and paused in uncertainty, his hands wavering, looking for a place to rest. "Ah – er… Hmm." He straightened and placed his hands on his own hips instead. "Look," he said, arching a brow and keeping his voice low, "the Inquisitor is _my_ friend, too. I'm just as concerned as anyone else."

"I can hear you both," the disembodied voice of Spymaster Leliana called from behind her desk. "Come up here; _this_ is where we conspire in this keep, not on the stairs where sound carries too easily."

Attempting to save face, Josephine straightened her royal blue finery and glided up the rest of the way to the top floor as if nothing had transpired at all, Dorian acting on Leliana's invitation and following directly behind her. Ravens cawed at their entrance, alarmed by these strangers' sudden appearances. Leliana soothed her winged messengers before walking over to meet them.

"You two would make terrible spies, especially dressed as you are. This way," she directed, leading them out to the balcony. They stepped out in the crisp, late morning air, the aroma of rolls and pasties from the kitchen heavy on the light breeze. Readjusting her hood, Leliana leaned against the balcony and placed her hands on the railing. "If this is about Solas, my information hasn't changed overnight."

Dorian stepped toward the Spymaster. "Funny thing, that whole 'disappearing into thin air' business," he chided her. "You and your people didn't have a closer eye on him?"

"We _were_ watching him," she snapped, miffed at him, "but I wasn't exactly going to send them to spy on the confrontation with Corypheus. Why would I? There was no need! We didn't expect Solas to just leave the way he did." Leliana's eyes lost their focus as she thought for a moment, quietly marvelling. "It's as though he simply… vanished!" She shook her head and turned to face Josephine. "There was no other path down from the platform except for that set of stairs. If he had jumped, he would have injured himself, or we'd have found a body by now - or even just a trail of blood for tracking, but nothing... Even so, I have eyes everywhere; I hope to have the final assessment this afternoon. They will hopefully have more to go on then."

Josephine felt exposed without her writing board. Any other time, and she'd be jotting down the occasional note to herself for reference later, but she hadn't planned to discuss Solas _. I should have come prepared for this,_ she reprimanded herself. "I don't know who he truly was or what he was really doing here, but I'm fairly certain he knew more than he was sharing about many things…"

As Leliana and Dorian nodded in agreement, the doorway to the tower caught their attention as Commander Cullen strode out onto the balcony to join them. He'd likely seen them talking from his command post across the way, and had obviously deduced that they weren't discussing the fine weather. "We can speculate about what Solas did or didn't know until we're blue in the face," he grumbled, pulling his furry pauldrons closer to his neck as a gust of wind hit him from behind, "but we'd be better off _finding_ him and interrogating him about it. Now, I've sent my men to scour our encampments in Ferelden _and_ Orlais, and if he left _anything_ behind that might shed some light, they have orders to bring it back to Skyhold. I will confer with you, if and when they uncover something," he said pointedly to Leliana.

Josephine raised an eyebrow, moving next to the Spymaster. "And what about me, Cullen? Are you going to include me in all of this? I have ideas of my own concerning this, you know."

He shot her a dubious glance, pursing his lips in distaste, and looked away with a shrug, as if finding the courtyard more interesting than this conversation. "If there's something you think you can offer, be my guest... Though I don't expect the elven apostate is going to be gallivanting with pompous nobles any time soon, so your help would probably be pointless."

Dorian cut in just as Josephine's ire was raised and her mouth had opened in rebuttal. "What the Commander is _trying_ to say," he interjected, shooting Cullen a look that screamed, _have you lost your mind_ , "is 'Thank you for the kind offer, Josie dear, and, my, don't you look lovely this morning.' We should explore _all_ avenues, right? Who knows! He could surprise everyone by hiding in plain sight!"

"Thank you, Dorian," Josephine nodded in vindication, crossing her arms and shifting weight from one hip to the other. "I will send inquiries to the Lords and Ladies to see if they have any new subjects or travellers in their provinces fitting Solas' description."

"You're right," the Commander relented, sighing heavily, "I apologise, Josephine. I had a restless night over this very thing... If he was here to sabotage our efforts -"

"Then he failed miserably," Leliana said, cutting that line of thought off. "After all, he helped us to defeat Corypheus."

"But what if he only did it for Corypheus' orb?" Cullen shook his head, clearly troubled by this. "He left directly after he found it in pieces, and that tells me he was using us as a means to obtain it. What would he want with it?"

Dorian studied the stonework, smoothing his moustache with a finger. "Presumably he was after its power, though he never struck me as a blood mage. But he _was_ an apostate; you know as well as I do, Commander, that mages can easily dabble in the dark arts when left to their own devices. That said, having travelled with him over the last year, I've never seen him use it - at least not openly. Then again, his closest friends were spirits from the Fade," he shrugged, "so blood magic would have been… _mundane_ in comparison."

"He was a rift mage," Josephine recalled, an idea striking her, "so perhaps we should also contact… er… What was her name?"

"Oh, you mean 'Your Trainer'?" Leliana sneered derisively. "Yes, I'm sure she could tell us much. Josie, the woman doesn't even remember her own name."

"But she specialises in the same magic that Solas does, and not many do," Josephine argued. "She could know as much as _him_ about the Fade. What if he's gone there to hide? Maybe she might help us look for him there."

"What, physically _in the Fade_? No," Cullen dismissed this, leaning on the railing and peering at the grounds below them, which bustled with people about their daily business. "He was astonished when the Inquisitor exited the Fade physically and _lived_ through it. I doubt he knew it was even possible before all this. Besides," he added, "I've seen mages during their Harrowings. The body remains behind; they appear to be sleeping. No, I don't believe for a moment Solas would be wandering the Fade, leaving his body unattended somewhere for us to just _stumble_ on."

They all nodded to Cullen's statement, and there was silence for a time as thoughts were left unsaid. Josephine used this break in their speculation to change the subject. "Leliana, I came to see you because the Inquisitor didn't come down this morning."

The three stiffened, glancing at one another fretfully. "Oh… well," Leliana paused, thinking, "it was a difficult battle. Maybe she is resting because she finally can. I remember sleeping for weeks after the battle with the Archdemon at the end of the Blight."

"That's what I had hoped it might be," Josephine sighed, somewhat reassured.

"Or perhaps she woke up earlier than usual and is out enjoying a moment's peace," Cullen suggested alternatively.

Dorian shook his head slowly at their ignorance. "Or it's _quite_ possible," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes, "that _someone_ ended their relationship not long ago and left without a trace _just last night_. Don't tell me none of you has ever been in love with someone! How do you _think_ she's taking all of this?"

Leliana and Cullen looked around uncomfortably, keeping their eyes averted, unable to offer a suitable response. He was right, however, they had to admit it; the man they all held in such high suspicions had been the Inquisitor's lover. Whatever they found out about him or his whereabouts was going to hurt her, regardless of its nature.

"Perhaps, um," the Commander stammered, rubbing his neck awkwardly, "perhaps one of us should…"

"...Check she hasn't thrown herself off the balcony," Leliana murmured grimly.

Josephine's eyes went round, hearing her. "You don't think – No. She wouldn't do that; she's stronger than that. She loved him, of course, but he is out there, alive, _somewhere_. She will hold out hope that he will return to her, I am sure of it. Remember when he left for a time after the death of his, er… friend? Perhaps she thinks he'll be back after he works through some issues on his own for a while. She is not going to _kill_ herself, after all we've been through, over a relationship gone bad."

"It wasn't a bad relationship," Dorian sighed quietly. The three advisers turned to him expectantly, and he realised with a start that he'd spoken aloud. "You're all forgetting that I spent most of my time in the rotunda, just above his study. I had a fairly decent vantage point of the two of them below me."

Cullen's scarred lip turned up in disgust, but Dorian caught sight of it and glared openly. "Not like _that_ ," he sneered, crossing his hands over his chest defensively. "Bloody templars," he muttered, shaking his head and looking upward as though asking Andraste for more patience, "always thinking the worst of mages…"

"What could you see?" Leliana asked with wide blue eyes, always one for spying and gossiping. She was too high up on the top floor to have overheard anything, herself.

"That she was crazy about him, of course," Dorian replied simply. " _That_ much was obvious."

Cullen rounded on him, determined to find out everything the Tevinter knew. "What of Solas, though! Was he manipulating her? Misdirecting? Influencing her mind with some form of magic? Did you ever see him acting suspiciously?"

"If I had, don't you think I'd have told someone about it?" Dorian arched a brow at the Commander, then shrugged his shoulders. "Never mind, don't answer that. But from where I stood, Solas was the genuine article. You could see it in his posture when she entered the rotunda to talk to him. The questions she would ask him – about his experiences and what he'd seen in the Fade – made him happy to… Oh," he stopped, frowning to himself, realisation dawning on him.

"What is it?" Josephine pressed urgently, taking a step toward him.

Dorian looked up and met their eager eyes. "I know where she is," he stated, surprised he didn't think of it earlier. "Excuse me." With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared through the doorway, leaving the advisers to exchange puzzled glances with one another.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

Dorian hadn't been back in the suite above the War Room since the night Lavellan and Solas had returned from their brief holiday to Crestwood. The two had left the Keep together in high spirits, but it was upon returning separately days later that everyone who wasn't completely thick in the head had noticed something was seriously wrong. She had hidden her face under the hood of her robe, going immediately to her room without so much as a greeting or a stop at the kitchens for supper, and the inner circle had hurriedly voted – somewhat democratically – that Dorian be the one to see what was amiss with the Inquisitor, whereas Cole had been adamant that he alone talk to Solas. In truth, Dorian would have gone to her whether they'd settled on him or not; Lavellan had become a close friend since he had offered to lend his expertise to the cause, and the concern he'd had for her outweighed everyone else's frank curiosity.

He'd spent hours with her, the first shock having been when she lowered her hood to reveal her face, which had been altered in a way he hadn't thought possible. Her Dalish markings were gone, and the bareness of her porcelain skin left her looking strangely… Well, normal, but that wasn't to say that "normal" for everyone else was necessarily right for her. She looked and acted like a different person, and he felt embarrassed to look upon her at first, alone in her room as they were. It felt as though he'd stumbled in to find her half undressed, and if it weren't for her silent tears, he'd have kept his eyes averted.

The second shock was indeed the tears themselves, which he'd never seen her shed in all the time he had known her. Usually incredibly strong considering everything she had to face on a consistent basis, that night she had been utterly inconsolable. He knew at the time that she'd felt humiliated at the prospect of crying in front of someone, but he hadn't once considered leaving her for privacy's sake, even if all he could do for her was to listen.

After he'd finally left, Commander Cullen, Ambassador Josephine, and Spymaster Leliana had been standing in the main hall near the throne, waiting for an update. He had glossed over much of what had been said to preserve Lavellan's personal life from being gossiped about, but he informed them of the ending of the relationship and the loss of her Dalish tattoos due to some unknown magic. After that, Dorian had departed and made his way to the library in the rotunda where he had wanted to absorb himself in a good book to take his mind off things for a while.

When he'd noticed Solas sitting on his comfortable sofa against the curved wall, a book opened on his lap, he had been struck by a glaring frustration. It was perfectly fine for Dorian to lose himself in a story or two that evening, but for Solas to do the same, after everything Dorian had done for the sake of damage control, had made the corner of his elegant moustache twitch. He'd said nothing to the travel-worn elf as he cut through to the staircase and ascended to the second floor, but when he'd reached his bookshelves, he had found that he was still peeved to no end that the man sat below him in stark indifference as though absolutely nothing had transpired whatsoever.

So at that time he'd done what he was best at, having had the two best teachers in the world raise him in it until it had become an art form, or even a second language: passive aggressive behaviour. One by one, the books he did not find particularly appealing had been thrown clean over the railing, each one landing with a loud _whack!_ against the stone floor, or a _thunk!_ if it hit the large area rug surrounding the desk. It was deeply satisfying to imagine him flinching with every boom that echoed through the cylindrical stone building.

"Dorian! What _exactly_ are you doing?" Solas had demanded in an exasperated tone after almost a minute of this, looking up from his comfortable seat.

Dorian had made his way to the railing and leaned over, meeting the elven man's narrowed eyes. "I thought I might recommend a few novels, Solas! With luck, you might even get through them all, seeing as you'll have _so_ much more free time on your hands!"

He had shaken his head and returned to the pages of his book, but Dorian had found it too difficult to resist annoying him further. "How was your date? Was it all you _dreamed_ it would be? I do hope at least one of you enjoyed themselves," he shouted, his voice echoing through the tower. Everyone else had had the tact to continue their studies in peace as he applied pressure, which was a smart decision by them; he might have just as easily turned on any bystander that tried to interfere, going by his mood, then.

As he'd heard the scuffled sounds of books being gathered up below, he sighed to himself, thinking perhaps he wasn't being all too mature about the situation. Dorian had descended the stone steps and crossed the room, coming to a stop in front of Solas, who had stood leaning against his desk where a new pile of tarnished books stacked up nearly to shoulder-height. He'd folded his hands over his chest so they covered that peculiar jawbone and leather necklace he sported like some sort of wild man.

"I appreciate the recommendations," Solas had offered guardedly, "but I have enough reading material with which to occupy myself, presently."

Dorian had pressed his lips to a fine line, placing his hands on his hips, and had begun to pace the length of the rug as he'd thought of what to say. "I've just spent my entire evening trying to calm Inquisitor Lavellan down enough for her to sleep," he'd started, his demeanour exhausted as he explained himself. "I have never _seen_ her cry, did you know that? It would take a great deal to affect her like that, one should think."

Solas had had the decency to look wretched for a brief moment, but he said nothing in response as his face had quickly hardened. Perhaps the man had been upset about what he'd done to her emotionally, but a large part of him must have felt it was justified; it seemed he'd had his reasons, yet he wasn't upfront with them. When had he ever been?

"I only want to know one thing, Solas," he'd insisted critically. "Why?"

Solas' eyes had narrowed defensively. "Why what, Dorian? Be more specific, please; I cannot read minds."

This blatant dodge had made Dorian snort derisively. "Where should I start?" He'd pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger to stave off his fatigue. "Since you're such a purveyor of logic and reason, I'll start there: Why would you initiate a relationship with the leader of the Inquisition and then break it off _precisely_ when she needs the most focus to defeat our adversary?" He'd crossed his arms over his chest and stood with his feet shoulder-width apart before the man. "Explain that one to me, because I'm having a bit of trouble with it, myself."

Solas had shifted his feet, still in traditional wraps, and lifted his chin subtly higher in a defiant gesture. "I meant to end things sooner, but…" He'd let the thought fall by the wayside with a shrug, resting his hands on either side of him on the surface of the desk. "It is regretful that our dalliance resulted in this way, but it had to be done. Better it was dealt with now than to leave it any longer."

Dorian had let out a hearty laugh of disbelief and turned around to face the wall as he composed himself. "A ' _dalliance_ ', he calls it! Oh, poor, poor Lavellan…" Turning around again, he fixed Solas with an angry stare. "You could have informed _her_ that you didn't see it as anything more than just a casual fling! She's up in the Tower Room even now, weeping over lost love! You could have spared the woman the emotional investment!"

"It _wasn't_ like – " He had cut himself off and turned his gaze for a moment, blinking back the slightest trace of water in his eyes. "I don't expect you to understand," he'd replied shortly, amending what he had been about to say.

"Oh, pardon my ignorance, is this one of those pearls of ancient wisdom you uncovered in the Fade? I must be too simple to comprehend your sheer brilliance. Forgive my lowly intelligence!"

At an irritated scoff from Solas, Dorian had begun to pace lavishly, exaggerating his gestures in a mock-grandiose fashion. "Ah yes, I see it now! Your genius is a wonder to behold! Let's recap to savour your cleverness for a moment, shall we? You took your lover on a getaway trip under the pretence of unadulterated romance, and upon arrival at said destination, broke her heart almost immediately – but not before telling her the Dalish were fools and erasing the markings from her face, of course. How clever of you to let her down so gently as to cause the least amount of trauma to the dear woman! I applaud your sensitivity, truly!" He'd begun a slow clap, his face set with the sarcastic arch of a single dark brow.

Riled, Solas had gripped the edge of his desk until his knuckles had shone white, trying to hold his composure together. Glimpses of the young man Solas had said he once was bubbled beneath his calm demeanour, threatening to breach the surface and lash out. Though he was restraining himself from engaging physically, he had held no such reservations with regard to his guile. "If you do not approve of what you hear, then perhaps you should return to ignoring the plight of elves around you instead of needlessly involving yourself."

He'd smirked as he let out the breath of a laugh, shaking his head and resting his hands on his hips again. "Well, maybe you can simply disregard the feelings of others, but _I_ have this little thing called 'empathy'. You might have heard of it – doubtful, though, judging by my evening, thus far."

He had started back toward the stairs when Solas had engaged him yet again, determined to have the last word. "Our personal affairs are no business of yours, magister."

Solas had known well that Dorian was not a magister; the elf was using the term specifically as an insult. He'd wheeled and stormed back over to the man, whose eyes had lit up like hot, blue flames. Solas had wanted something from him, but damned if he could decipher what it was, yet. " _Vishante kaffas_ ," he'd sworn, their faces mere inches apart. "You arrogant, bald little prick. And all this time, I didn't realise your name was actually ' _Soulless_ '! My mistake, then."

Solas had smirked wryly at that, the look in his eyes encouraging him toward some end he couldn't foresee. "I suppose you think that's quite clever of you, Dorian, but we elves have been telling that one for centuries. How fitting that a Tevinter attempt to steal it and claim it as his own."

Dorian had felt compelled to indulge him, regardless of where it headed. "If I wasn't a better man than you in every single way, snowflake, I would strike that smirk off of your smug face." He'd taken a calming breath and backed away, letting the rage flow out of him as he exhaled slowly. "But I am, and we're done, here."

Just as he'd shifted round to face the archway leading to the stairs, Solas quipped, "Ah, then you do not resemble your brethren as much as I first presumed. How fortunate for me! And how would your home country celebrate personal achievement? By sacrificing a young slave girl or two, for good measure?"

And with a brief chuckle and a rueful sigh, Dorian had spun on his heel and brought his right fist down hard on Solas' cheekbone.

The elf had recoiled from the impact, but sprung back surprisingly quickly with a hand on his cheek, the look of subtle coercion having evaporated as though it had never truly existed in the first place, making Dorian question whether it had been a figment of his frustrated imagination all along. The gasps and yelps above them from their audience of scholars, mages, and spies had caused the two to exchange a hard glance that signalled an end to their enlightening conversation.

"I see now that I was wrong about you," Solas had said in reference to his last comment, though there had been something behind his voice that sounded like appreciation.

Dorian had massaged his bruised knuckles with his good hand. "I was just thinking the same thing," he had shaken his head with regret. "How serendipitous," he'd muttered, passing through the archway and going back to his chair by the window in the upstairs library, where he had continued on occasion to send useless books cascading over the wooden railing.

It took him until only recently to understand the look Solas had given him that night. He had goaded Dorian into hitting him purposefully, and the Tevinter had obliged that wish wholeheartedly, though the question of why had alluded him for some time. But it was all too clear to him, now: Solas had felt guilty for what he'd done, and he had known he deserved something in the way of retribution. It had been a release for the apostate to get what he had coming, and had helped ground him in his duties, thereafter. Perhaps the punch had even given Solas the closure he'd needed, knowing everyone had gotten it out of their systems entirely.

And maybe it had done those things for _him_ , but all it ever gave Dorian was a mixed sense of relief and remorse, though he understood he had been manipulated into throwing his fist. So racked with guilt was he for the loss of his temper and for giving in to such behaviour with an ally that he'd never told Lavellan what had transpired between the two of them after he'd left her room that night.

Now, the door to the tower quarters above the war room creaked on its hinges when he nudged it open with an elbow, a small towel draped over his shoulder as he balanced a tray of tea fixings, toast, biscuits, a pitcher of water, scrambled eggs, and sausages. The pleasant aromas awakened his senses even though he'd been up for hours at this point. Small hunger pangs nagged at him quietly, and he was immediately grateful he'd thought to bring enough food for two. Dorian took the stairs three at a time, all the while watching the tray and keeping the water level. The large room was cloaked in darkness, the curtains on the fine windows all drawn shut. Looking closely, he could see Inquisitor Lavellan curled up under the silk bedding, still sleeping late into midday. _Just as I thought,_ he grimaced.

"Rise and shine," Dorian said in an overtly booming voice, placing the tray down on the sideboard and approaching the far windows. He threw open the heavy velvet curtains, the late morning sun spilling into the room, bathing the Inquisitor's bed in blinding light. Making his way around the perimeter of the room, he threw curtains open haphazardly, turning back toward the breakfast tray once he finished and pouring water into a tall glass. "I knew you needed your beauty sleep, my dear, but this is a bit much."

Inquisitor Lavellan didn't react. The steady noises of sleep could thankfully be heard, but he wasn't going to let this continue any further. Sighing, he stood upon the bed fit for a queen and began jumping on it, shaking her violently with the force of her expensive spring mattress. " _Nice_ ," he approved. "I should see if Josie can get one of these for Bull… Lavellan, darling, it's nearing noon," he called to her. "Wake up!"

Groaning angrily, she shifted to the edge of the bed, hugging her feather down pillow and forcing her eyes shut. Tear tracks marked her now bare face, absent her _vallaslin_ , something that Dorian was still not used to seeing. Solas had cast some class of spell Dorian had never heard of that had removed it from her forehead, cheeks, chin, and elsewhere, or so he'd been told. He missed the little green tree, if he was honest; it had been very becoming. He wondered if she even recognised herself in the mirror, anymore.

"I didn't want to do this, but you leave me no choice," he offered as a final warning. When she didn't respond, he stood directly above her and poured the glassful of cold well water on her face. Gasping and sputtering, Lavellan held her hands up in shock, relenting. "Ah," Dorian smiled, feeling particularly devious. "Pleasant dreams, I take it?" He stepped down to the floor, tossing her the cotton face towel from his shoulder, and went to the tray to put the glass down and make them a cup of tea.

" _Dorian_ ," Lavellan roared, sitting up in bed, now fully conscious and covering herself in blankets to fight the chill of the icy water dripping from her blonde hair. "What do you _want_?!" She buried her face in the towel, patting her head with it in misery.

" _Tsk_ ," he shook his head, his back turned to her as he let the tea leaves steep in steaming water and buttered her toast for her. "And you're normally such a morning person, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

He heard the comforter rustle as she tossed it aside and placed her feet to the floor, going to the wardrobe to retrieve a robe. She'd thrown it on before he turned around with plates in hand, and he motioned her to sit back down on the bed. "Come, now, let's have a little something to eat. My hands are full; could you push the blankets aside?"

Lavellan arched a single brow his way, but acquiesced, sighing heavily and gathering the silken bedding to her before discarding it on the right-hand side of her bed. "Why did you wake me up, Dorian? Is there someone to judge?"

"Not yet, no," he reassured her, sitting with one leg tucked beneath him, the other still touching the floor. She crawled back onto the bed and sat cross-legged, her shoulders slumped. Her hair was an absolute mess, sticking out at funny angles. He would have laughed, given different circumstances. As it was, he felt a pang of sympathy for her. She scratched her ears in frustration before Dorian handed her the plate of scrambled eggs, a single sausage, and a slice of toast. She stared down at it, pushing it back and forth with her fork.

His voice was gentle. "I know you aren't feeling too hungry just yet, so I didn't bother with more than this… Do you think you could force it down?" Dorian asked, a knowing, empathetic smirk turning one side of his mouth. "For me?"

Lavellan didn't look up, but after a pause, she pierced the sausage and brought it slowly to her lips. After a brief sniff, she took a reluctant bite and chewed silently. This small show of normalcy did much to relieve him. "You didn't answer me, Dor," she reminded him, taking another slow bite. "Why did you wake me?"

The forlorn note in her voice made him draw his eyebrows together in concern. He leaned over conspiratorially, murmuring as if they could be overheard. "I know what you were up to, and I came to put a stop to it." He rose from his comfortable spot and sieved the leaves out of the teacups. "Do you still take sugar?" He asked.

"I don't like tea," Lavellan said distantly.

"No," Dorian corrected, "he-who-must-not-be- _named_ didn't like tea. _You_ , however, have taken tea with me dozens of times."

"I don't like it _anymore_ ," she amended herself.

"One lump or two?" He ignored her. She was going to get back to her normal, lively self, so help him. Lavellan didn't answer, but he already knew well that she preferred two sugars. He let them dissolve prettily on the spoon before stirring, then added a small splash of goat's milk. Bringing the teacups over to the bed, he casually sipped at his own while extending his arm out for Lavellan to take her's. She accepted it gently, sipping at it carefully as Dorian doubled back for a few digestive biscuits and settled back down on the mattress, his mustache twitching at the steam from his cup.

They sat in a comfortable silence until their tea was half gone, Lavellan stopping to eat the eggs before they went cold on her plate. He took no small pleasure in watching her devour them. She hadn't taken anything to eat the previous night, claiming she didn't have the stomach for it. This he did not doubt. _Heartbroken, the poor thing_ , he thought. For all her toughness and strength, she was still human – or elven, he should say. The people around her tended only to see "The Inquisitor", and as such, it was too easy for people to think of her as saintly or statuesque, when really she was anything but. Even Solas had placed her position above her humanity, or at least that was the one excuse he gave for his decision to end it.

Lavellan dunked her biscuit into the remaining tea and nibbled at it. "I couldn't find him," she stated coolly after swallowing.

Dorian kept his eyes on his tea and sipped before responding, "Did you really think you would?"

She sniffed and rubbed her nose, her emotions threatening to get the better of her. "I thought," her voice quivered, but she cleared her throat, continuing, "I thought that I could find him the same way he always found me."

He rose again to fix himself a plate of breakfast, using it as an excuse to turn his back for a moment and allow her some time to compose her thoughts. "He stopped coming to you there long before last night, though." Piling his toast on top of his meal, he walked back over and sat down quietly, letting her digest what he'd said.

Her lip trembled slightly, and a tear threatened to spill over her cheek. She rubbed at her face in frustration, unable to speak, but needing to. He gave her a moment while he ate his toast with marmalade, eyeing her closely as he chewed. "Do I need to get the water, again?" He smirked, trying to make her laugh just once.

It worked, but his victory was short-lived. "I can't make sense of what happened in the Fade," she sighed, annoyed and confused.

"Tell it to me," he offered helpfully. "Third person perspective, and all that."

"Okay," she resigned, downing the rest of her cup in one go. She put it down next to her and began. "I was in a forest. Sol…Solas had taken me there once, talking about how our people used to live in such places as immortals," she explained, a pained expression on her face at mention of his name. "I thought if I went back to some of the places he'd shown me, I could find him there, waiting for me, and that maybe he would tell me… why it had to be this way."

There was a long pause as she sat watching him eat. He looked up to see her, still and distant. "Go on," he nudged her, "I'm listening."

Letting out a breath, Lavellan continued, "He wasn't there, because the Fade changes under different circumstances, and…" She realised suddenly that she was about to give Dorian a lecture on the Fade the same way Solas had always done for her, and she stopped, letting the things she was going to say slip away. "It doesn't really matter… He just… Well, he wasn't there… I called his name, over and over, and had no answer. Then I came to a clearing – a meadow, I guess. I walked out to the middle of it and stared up at the sky, and it was so perfect… Like the night we'd first made love," she confessed, in awe of what she saw in her mind's eye. "I fell to my knees and cried his name one last time before…"

Dorian cut a sausage in half and stabbed his fork into it, holding it for a moment, waiting for more. "…Before…?" he prompted.

Lavellan looked up, her eyes wide and unblinking. "I started howling."

" _Howling_ ," he repeated, bemused. "What, like a, like – "

"Like a wolf," she finished. "I know, I don't know why I did it, either," she admitted, shuddering. "But then," her brows drew together in confusion, "from far off, I heard a wolf. It was baying, answering my call." She stared out her window for a moment, her large green elf eyes glittering with unshed tears. "It… sounded so sad."

Then in a flash, she'd grounded herself once more, sniffing loudly and wiping her eyes. "It could be nothing, but… I thought it was too convenient not to mean _something_."

He didn't know quite what to say to that. "Well, it certainly makes for an interesting tale," he admitted, eating the last of the sausage and brushing the crumbs from his hands.

Lavellan breathed a laugh and rubbed her eye. "Tell me about it," she mumbled.

Sighing, Dorian reached a hand out and rubbed her shoulder gently. "Hey," he started, trying to offer a different outlook, "you've had an extremely difficult time of it, lately. You had to deal with a powerful, crazed man – or who knows what he truly was – obsessing over a magical orb and destroying your world over it… And you had to take care of Corypheus, too," he smirked.

She laughed aloud at that, and it brought a smile to his face to hear it. As she laughed, though, her body began to rack with sobs she couldn't bear to hold in anymore. Feeling the sting of tears himself, he gathered her up in his lap like a small child and combed his fingers through her damp, messy hair. She cried openly for the first time since her relationship ended, and he held her against his chest, rocking her back and forth as he soothed her with comforting whispers, promising her that everything would be okay soon. Everything was going to be all right…

It had to be... Eventually.


	4. Chapter 4

"Come on, you owe me!"

"I don't owe you enough to justify closing down during peak hours when there's all this coin to make off the pilgrims."

"And how much do you owe the person who saved the world?"

" _That's_ not fair; I'm grateful, but life goes on. A dwarf's gotta make a living, you know."

"Be reasonable, Cabot!"

Cassandra Pentaghast listened impatiently to Varric Tethras as he tried, so far unsuccessfully, to barter with the owner of Herald's Rest. This get-together was an idea of her's that she had discussed in private with Varric over a month ago, and he was more than happy to help if it meant relaxation, friends, and drink. They would have arranged it before the final battle, but the confrontation with Corypheus had happened unexpectedly, pushing their secretive plans forward. It must happen tonight. Lavellan deserved it, and they all needed this if she was perfectly honest. If it didn't happen now everyone would go their separate ways, and they'd have to wait ages to have this opportunity again.

She downed the remainder of her pint and glanced around the dimly lit tavern, packed with pilgrims, travellers, and soldiers alike. The hearth she stood near listening to Maryden spin tales through song was growing uncomfortably hot on her silverite gauntlets, and Varric's failure gave her as good an excuse as any to move away from the flames.

Crossing the room to the bar, she slammed her steel mug down on the counter in front of the stout little man and leaned toward Cabot to intimidate him, grabbing his grubby work collar and glaring fiercely. "Tell me, _dwarf_ ," she sneered at him, "how much coin will you make if you spend the rest of the week on a pallet in the infirmary?" Cassandra let go suddenly, pushing him so he staggered.

He backed away to a safe distance, glaring at them in turn as he crossed his arms. "Oh, so it's like that, is it? You don't get your way, so you start in with the – "

"Threats?" She cut him off, her voice raised, "I don't do 'threats'; I suggest you start acting a little more grateful to your Inquisitor, or your life will cease to go on." She watched closely as he sent an incredulous look Varric's way, imploring him to call her off.

The ginger dwarf shrugged his shoulders. "Don't look at me; I don't tell her what to do! And if I were you, I wouldn't do anything to piss off the Seeker," he said shaking his head, his voice like gravel. "Trust me, you don't want to get on her bad side… I've seen some shit."

The bartender shook with frustration. " _Fine_ ," he glowered, raising a finger in Varric's face and pointedly avoiding Cassandra's steely brown eyes, "but I'm filing a complaint against you, Seeker. And Varric, you're going to compensate me. I'm taking a huge hit!"

"Keep talking and you'll take more than one," Cassandra said icily, making it clear that she was done with this conversation. She stormed away, resisting the urge to walk out to her usual training area and take her adrenaline out on a practice dummy, and instead claimed a seat at the table by the door, strategically faced away from the bar so she could feel the fresh air blowing in, cooling her face as she removed her overheated gauntlets.

After a short time, she could sense Varric standing just behind her and to the left. She shoved the chair opposite her out with her armoured boot, inviting him silently to sit with her. He strode up with a wry grin stuck to his face, placing two mugs of ale on the table and plunking down on the chair, not bothering to bring it in close so he could prop his leather boots upon the table, linking his hands to rest on his stomach.

"Nicely done, Seeker," he said, thoroughly impressed. "I'm starting to enjoy this good guard/bad guard thing we've got going. We make a good team."

Cassandra scoffed at that. "Please, Varric... I only stepped in because you were taking too long to get this place secured for tonight."

"Whatever the reason, it worked! He's scared shitless of you, now," he laughed, hoisting his boots down to the floor. Varric reached for his mug, pausing to let it hang in the middle of the table. Smirking reluctantly, Cassandra picked up her own and clinked his mug in a toast. "To victory," he rasped, an amused chuckle on his breath.

"To victory," she agreed, drinking before he could get the satisfaction of having made her smile.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

"So what d'you want me to do? Set up streamers an' paint a big sign? Or are you askin' me to stay in here?" Sera leaned on the door frame of her room, her arms crossed in front of her. She'd witnessed earlier the two of them secure the building for the night from her spot above the ground floor of the tavern. They'd made a decent job of it, but she would have added a bit more arrow to the face, if it were her.

"Of course not," Cassandra said in her thick Nevarran accent. "We just…" She looked down at Varric, the two of them exchanging a glance Sera recognised as uncertainty. "We thought that perhaps you'd like to…"

Varric sighed, taking over. "We want you to bake for us."

"What, _really_!" She felt giddy at the thought, but didn't want them to see her overly eager to accept, though she was already checking off ingredients in her head.

"Yes, really," Cassandra said evenly, ever the warrior. "Despite your differences with Lavellan, the two of you are still close friends. And she loves your cookies."

"Damn right, she does," Sera agreed smugly. "My cookies bring _all_ the elves to the yard."

"What yard?" Cassandra said, flummoxed.

"The friggin' courtyard on baking day, what d'ya think?"

Varric smirked. "Whatever works for you, Buttercup. You've got a few hours yet, so you just go and…" He waved a hand dismissively. "Just work your magic."

"Right, you call it that again, and I'll whip up the brownies I reserve for stuck-up nobles. I call 'em ' _chocolate mudslides_ '. Give ya three guesses why!"

Cassandra bowed her head slightly, suppressing a grin that threatened to spread across her sharp features, and left to make further arrangements. "I don't like chocolate," she called as she made her way around the walkway to the stairs.

Varric winked at Sera before following the Seeker, satisfied with not having to do battle with more than wits these days. "What kind of sick person doesn't like chocolate?!"

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

Lavellan held meetings with her War Council every day at the same time. This day, however, she was extremely late. With the rifts closed and Corypheus finally defeated, she had hoped that her work here was done, but it had become quickly apparent that this was not so. There were still a few things left undone, loose ends to tie up, petty squabbles to settle in Orlais and Ferelden that called upon the resources at the Inquisition's disposal. Feeling out of sorts this morning, Dorian had finally reminded her after she'd dressed that she was still expected to go downstairs and resume her duties. The responsibility seemed unremitting, and it weighed on her mind that she may never truly be free to make her own life, or what was left of it, forever a figurehead of an organisation she'd been drafted into against her will.

She pushed on the towering, heavy doors of the war room, their hinges creaking with strain, and closed them shut behind her before crossing the stone floor to the uniquely built war table. Someone had taken great pains to remove a tree stump, level it off, and sand down a large section of the same tree to be used as a tabletop. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, and Lavellan often wondered what its original purpose had been before it was abandoned with the rest of the stronghold. The maps spread out upon it were weighted down in the corners so that pins could be placed in areas that called for assistance or liberation.

Ambassador Josephine Montilyet, Commander Cullen Rutherford, and Spymaster Leliana were already waiting opposite her. She felt strongly that she had interrupted a conversation they had been having while waiting, but she said nothing. The air was oppressive and she felt her ears burning, but though Lavellan normally cared immensely for their approval, an emptiness of purpose was eating away inside her, and it left her feeling detached and apathetic toward her duties. _Better to just take their reports and get this over with_ , she thought.

"Good morning, Inquisitor," Leliana greeted her with a hint of irony, the afternoon sun pouring through the windows. "How did you sleep last night? Well, I presume?"

Lavellan nodded her acknowledgement, avoiding the topic of sleep entirely. "Good day, everyone. Do you have a report for me on the peace talks, yet?"

"Yes, Inquisitor," Josephine answered, removing parchment from her board and handing it over. "It just arrived this morning, in fact."

Lavellan skimmed the missive over, nodding. "This is good work; your contacts have done well with the negotiations. I'll need them to follow up with us in case there's still a land dispute between the properties, though."

She nodded in agreement. "Of course. I will inform them to keep their ears to the ground, though I doubt they would do otherwise," she smiled, lips pressed to a fine line.

Cullen cleared his throat and leaned over the table, pointing with a gloved finger at a marker in Orlesian territory. "I've received news concerning that dragon you culled last week. The corpse has been removed from the grounds as arranged, and apparently sold to some eccentric collector in the Free Marches. How he will be transporting it in one piece is anyone's guess, but we can hire a taxidermist. That should take the weight off considerably and stop decay. If he wants the meat and organs, the mages have ways of preserving them." He rested his hands on the hilt of his sheathed sword. "It's a job that will require a lot of muscle and strong stomachs, things my men have in droves, and the ones that don't yet could use the experience. The coin this will earn for the Inquisition, though, will pay those soldiers' salaries for nearly half a year," he marvelled, clearly believing some people had more money than sense.

"Sounds good, I'll go with your plan. Get on it," Lavellan ordered. "Any other news, Commander?"

"My men have returned with some herbs and ore from the Storm Coast, but other than that, no," he sighed, relieved. "It's actually quite calm at the moment… Makes a nice change, but I'm still trying to convince myself the hard part is over with." He gave her a charming smile, and looked down as though embarrassed for having admitted that out loud. It was still surprisingly sweet to find that the fierce Commander of their forces was privately so socially awkward.

Leliana giggled quietly, adding, "I don't know about you, but I could get used to it." Her report ready, she took a breath to begin the debriefing, a letter with an unbroken seal in her hand.

"That will be all today, I think. Thank you for coming," Lavellan nodded to Cullen and Josephine.

The two advisers exchanged looks of alarmed confusion and glanced over at the Spymaster, who stood still, her brows raised as the Inquisitor turned on her heel and headed for the doors. "Inquisitor, my people have returned with news of – "

"Another time," Lavellan cut her off, not turning around and placing her hands on the door handles.

"But there is a mission I'd like to discuss… "

She trailed off when the Inquisitor turned to her, her elven eyes like daggers. Lavellan lowered her hands and, after a long pause, strode nonchalantly back to the table, leaning on it with her palms open, knocking loose two pins that rolled across the map toward Cullen, who caught them before they careened onto the floor.

"Tell me, Spymaster," Lavellan said coolly, "would you like me to have someone quietly assassinated? Perhaps you'd like me to destroy someone's marriage or livelihood because they said something 'unkind' about me?" She took her hands from the war table and walked toward the doors again, but then decided better of it, turning back to continue the confrontation, her blood hammering through her veins. "What assignment would you like me to entrust you with, when you couldn't even give me anything on my own travelling companions – of whom you said you knew everything?"

Josephine covered her mouth with a hand, dropping her quill. The room was so devoid of sound that everyone present heard it hit the floor with a light thud. Absently, Cullen stooped to pick it up, but held it in his hands instead of giving it back, twirling it with his fingers, using the feather as an excuse to cast his eyes down, effectively averting his gaze. They waited for more from Lavellan, but she stood in the middle of the room with a resentful grimace, waiting for an answer.

Leliana seemed to find this slightly amusing. "I presume you're referring to our little elf friend now," she said, her voice thick with sarcasm.

Lavellan threw a hand up and scoffed, "Sure, why not? We could also have a little chat about Blackwall – oh, excuse me, Thom Rainier – if you like."

Leliana visibly stiffened and let out a quiet chuckle. "Oh, I suppose we could, though this is so obviously not about Rainier at all."

"Look," Cullen interrupted, placing the quill and pins over Kirkwall on the map, "this is unnecessary; what's done is done. Leliana did what she could, but the man was an apostate and a vagabond… Not exactly easy to trace," he tried for reason.

Josephine leaped on the chance to diffuse the situation, as well. "Perhaps we should all take some time to ourselves to gather our thoughts, and come back to this later. With clearer heads, we might not say anything we may come to regret."

"No," Lavellan refused outright, "this is happening right now. No more stalling."

"All right, then, let's have it," Leliana shrugged, making her way around so there was nothing standing between them. She leaned against the table and crossed her arms over her chest, smirking dangerously. Simultaneously, Josephine came and stood off to the side of them, as though she were preparing to mediate a feud between noble houses. Cullen clenched and relaxed his fists, his eyes darting to each woman in turn, looking pale as he stood in place, on guard for anything.

"I would have thought the Left Hand of the Divine would vet people better before blindly accepting their stories," Lavellan scolded her, pacing like a wild animal sizing up its prey. "You and Cassandra both knew him before I even regained consciousness from the blast at the Conclave. I figured you knew what you were doing when you accepted his help. So now he's suspiciously left us, and lo and behold, you don't know a single thing more than when you first encountered him."

Leliana took deep offence to accusations of not doing her job properly, and defended herself if she felt it was uncalled for. She didn't fail to disappoint in that regard, and gave as good as she got. "Funny thing about that: you don't seem to know any more than I do. You claim that I should have known these things… but he was _your_ lover," she pointed out, arching a brow. "How am I to know more than someone who is sleeping with him?"

She ceased her pacing, incredulity in her eyes. "What did you just say to me?" Lavellan seethed, gritting her teeth, the muscles in her jaw clenched in anger. "How _dare_ you?!"

Leliana feigned a moment of clarity by widening her eyes and gasping. "Oh! You thought nobody knew? It's been the talk on everyone's lips since I had Solas followed that night with you in the Exalted Plains. A very romantic setting, by the way, but letting him steal you away from camp without informing anyone you were leaving? Inquisitor, that was _not_ the smartest decision you ever made."

Lavellan reeled, taken aback by this. Rage began to surface, her voice booming through the chamber, "That was a _private_ moment, Leliana! You had no right!"

Cullen's face instantly flushed, his hand going automatically to the back of his neck, completely mortified at the revelation.

"And how was my spy to know what you were going to do that night? He could have taken advantage of your faith in him and lured you into a trap," Leliana argued logically. "Maker forbid, but if he'd _murdered_ you, no one would have known you were even missing until morning! Like you said, we don't know what his true motivations were for being here, aside from his claim of wanting to lend his expertise. If he had harmed you in any way, I would have been disgraced for not doing my job, and rightly so! I admit there were a few oversights on my part, but I didn't _trust_ him, either." She made a strong case, but she didn't stop there, instead incensed enough to bear her claws. "And if you're going to be foolish enough to bed someone you don't know, Inquisitor, somebody has to take responsibility for your welfare if you won't."

"If he'd wanted me _dead_ ," she spat, taking a step toward Leliana, a finger pointed in anger at the floor, "he could have let me die hundreds of times out in the field, and not _one_ of you would have suspected a thing. But he _didn't_! I may not have known his life story, but don't try to tell me I didn't _know_ him. And you have the audacity to throw my sex life at me like that's all he ever was to me? I trusted him with my _life_ , you fucking bitch!"

Glaring icily, Leliana had finally been pushed too far, and went for the jugular. "Trust seems to be your weakness, then. Besides, I wasn't the one doing the 'fucking', Inquisitor. That honour was yours alone."

" _That's it_." Lavellan raced to charge Leliana, but before she could reach her throat to strangle it, Cullen launched himself over the table, pins flying everywhere. He closed the gap between them in one step, and the Inquisitor ran headlong into his chest plate. Holding her shoulders while she was stunned for a moment, he guided her toward the window, mumbling something about taking a breath, but her ears were ringing with the urge to spill blood. She could hear Josephine and Leliana's raised voices, but was too infuriated to concentrate on them. It sounded heated, whatever they argued about.

She took a few minutes to let the adrenaline die down again, and breathed in shattered breaths while Cullen rubbed his hands up and down her arms encouragingly for support. "Don't let her get to you," he was muttering to her. "You're not the first person today to jump on her case about… Solas," he hesitated to say the name out loud, not knowing how Lavellan would react. "You're upset, but don't forget about how others might be feeling, too. You push her enough, and she will lash out defensively. Don't take it personally, just take deep breaths…"

Lavellan closed her eyes and concentrated on the slow breathing techniques Cullen had taught her to manage her anger issues. She could hear the argument between Leliana and Josephine now, though they weren't as loud as they once were. Perhaps Josie was succeeding in bringing Leli back down, too.

Cullen sighed, staring out the tall window. "If they'd asked me," he said casually, adding his two coppers, "I would have objected to allowing Solas to help us as a free agent. It's too convenient, the expertise he offered just at the moment we most needed it. Something always made me suspicious of him." He patted her shoulder gently. "Never trust apostates," he jokingly reminded himself.

Moving away from the Commander to face him head on, Lavellan arched an eyebrow, a hand on her chest to indicate herself. "Cullen," she said with an edge in her voice, " _I_ am an apostate, according to your Chantry, and yet you all trusted me to _lead_ the damn Inquisition."

He blanched after realising belatedly that she'd taken offence, worried that she was turning her ire on him now. "Well – no," he stammered, trying to explain before it spiralled further, "You're not _technically_ an apostate… That is, you're Dalish, so – I only meant…" He sighed, calming himself so he wouldn't trip over his words as much. "You're different, Inquisitor; you're an elf."

"So was Solas," she countered, narrowing her eyes at him. "And what do you mean by that, anyway?"

"Nothing! I just – Maker's Breath," he sighed exasperated, running a hand through his blond curls, "this is absurd – I meant nothing by it; stop trying to pick a fight!"

"Commander," Josephine called to him, concern in her tone, "is everything all right over there?"

Cullen looked over at the two of them, now huddled close together, both of them calm. "I… don't know, give me just a second here." He turned back to Lavellan, his eyes searching for her forgiveness.

After taking another deep breath and letting it out slowly, she shrugged her shoulders and let it go, simply because she lacked the stamina to continue fighting, especially with Cullen, as he'd done nothing but try to help her. He squeezed her shoulders and ushered her back to the middle of the room, hands on her upper arms. She felt it very apropos that he should be guiding her about like this, as though she was a child again, being forced by her uncle to hug her sister after bickering about childish things.

"Now," Josephine started, "we're all a little on edge because of the chaotic day we had yesterday, yes? We can all agree that everyone here has a right to be mad about something, but we cannot answer any of these questions if we don't work together."

Lavellan felt all the fight drain out of her in that moment, and her shoulders sunk in defeat and fatigue with her situation. "I'm sorry, Leliana, I didn't mean to…" Her lungs felt heavy, and she had to will herself to breathe. "I'm sorry to you all. I don't feel like myself today… I don't think I actually know who I am, anymore..."

The three advisers turned to the elven woman then, pausing for an explanation that didn't come. She didn't look up to meet their gazes, but remained in silence, hugging her elbows across her stomach. There was a long moment of exchanged looks between them, communicating through glances as to who should start talking first. They chose Leliana, nodding toward her to say something.

"Inquisitor," the Spymaster apologised, "I should not have said the things I did. They were cruel, and I said them intending to provoke you. That was unworthy of me. If I'd put more effort into finding out more about Solas' past instead of spying on his present with you, things may have… turned out differently." She looked at the two other advisers then, asking with a look if that was enough, and they nodded, Cullen indicating that Josephine should go next. He cast his gaze back down at Lavellan, his hands still on her arms, but she kept quiet, lost in thought.

"I am thinking, Inquisitor," Josephine tried, "that you may need a holiday. You have not had it easy; this we all know personally. Could I arrange for you to spend some leisure time elsewhere? I have many favours that can be called in at a moment's notice, and we should be able to manage things here for you. Please, is there somewhere you'd like to go?" Leliana nudged her in approval, thinking that would do it.

The Inquisitor stepped away from Cullen so the four of them stood in a closed circle, and raised her green eyes to them, staring up at them mournfully. "I'd like to go back to my clan, Josephine," her voice low and full of regret, "but you know I can't do that, now."

Lady Montilyet's eyes widened. She knew, indeed. Her peace talks with the nobles to protect the Inquisitor's clan from genocide had utterly failed. They were massacred, and after the report had come in announcing their deaths, Josephine had found it extremely difficult to bring it up with the Inquisitor. Apparently she was going to bring it up now. "All right, I suppose that's fair," she acquiesced.

"No, it's _not_ fair," Lavellan said, trying to make them understand. "I was my Clan's First, in line to be the next Keeper… Those we _my_ People, _my_ responsibility. I should have been with them, but instead, I was sent to the Conclave, and then… this happened," she raised her left hand to indicate the anchor embedded in her palm. "And because of my involvement with this Inquisition, my family… my friends – _everyone_ I ever loved and cared for was slaughtered like _animals_." She was in turmoil, letting out the grief she had held secretly inside for so long.

"I have… _had_ … a younger sister. Atisha," she told them, her eyes lost in memory. "You would have liked her, Cullen, and she you. She was such a strong warrior and peacekeeper. And redheaded, too. She was so funny – she could make light of anything, and no matter how sad or angry I felt, she would have me laughing so hard, I thought I'd – "

Lavellan wiped at her nose, looking out the far window. "Sometimes I wish I'd agreed to let her come with me to the Conclave. She begged me, you know, but I told her no, so she could stay behind and protect the people. I tried and I tried, yet no matter what I choose, I can't save her in any of the scenarios I replay in my head." She looked at them urgently, as if she needed them to hear her reasoning so they could help her with this problem, or confirm her conclusions. "If I'd taken her to the Conclave with me, she would have died with everyone else there. But I told her to stay with the Clan, where she was killed because I failed to protect them. They're dead because of me, because of who I am and what I represented."

There was anger in her tone, but it was directed at herself. "Why do you all think I stopped calling myself Ellana after that? Clan Lavellan is gone; I am all that remains of them. I call myself only by Lavellan because there is no reason to distinguish myself from the others, anymore, and so long as I am called by this name, I will always remember the greatest loss I ever suffered, so they won't be forgotten… Elves are sticklers that way: always trying to keep their past alive, but failing at almost every turn…"

She looked up at them, tears in her eyes. Josephine's nose was red, her eyes misting, but she didn't look away, nodding gravely that she had felt the full impact of Lavellan's loss. Leliana reached a hand out to touch her shoulder in remorse and support. Cullen had his head bowed in respect for the dead, likely thinking of his siblings, then, and how he would feel if they were suddenly killed in retaliation. "I am sorry for your loss," he offered his condolences hoarsely. "We didn't want to pry…" His voice trailed off, knowing it was useless to even try. She'd lost everything and there was nothing anyone could say to make up for that.

"And suddenly," she laughed despite herself, "I met a man who was unlike anyone I'd ever met. He wasn't Dalish, but he was still proud of who he was. His name even meant _pride_ in Elvish. But you knew that." She paused, a soft, reminiscent smile in her eyes. "He taught me things, showed me places and memories long-buried. I wanted to remember what we once were so I wouldn't feel so lost anymore, and he offered me the knowledge I craved. He gave me more than that, but I don't think he meant to, at first. Companionship. Affection. Love. I wasn't all alone in a strange world, anymore. I let myself believe that everything was going to be fine, and I even let him take my _vallaslin_ away, thinking I didn't need it to remember my roots, because we had each other… But he…" Lavellan sniffed and tugged a hand through her hair to stop her pathetic weeping.

Her advisers were silent and compassionate, but she knew in that moment that, though they may be her friends, she was no longer useful to them in the way she once had been. Stiffening her upper lip, she faced them professionally, blinking away her tears. "I want you all to know," she stated sincerely, "that I appreciate every kindness you've shown me."

Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana exchanged horrified glances, all aware of what she was about to say. Raising a hand in disbelief, Cullen interjected solemnly, "Inquisitor, please, don't do this..."

Lavellan took a deep breath, addressing each of them in turn. "There is absolutely no reason, Leliana, that you need me to tell you, a Spymaster, how and where to do your job… Cullen, the war is over. You no longer require me to direct an army when you are more than capable of handling them yourself… And Josephine, as much as I would enjoy playing The Game with pampered nobility that wouldn't have lasted an hour in my village, I'm afraid I'll have to leave that up to you now…"

She bowed her head decisively for a moment and then continued, her eyes welling up again. "Thank you for everything each of you has ever done for me, but I hereby resign from my position as Inquisitor... I will leave Skyhold tomorrow."

Without another word, she clasped her hands behind her back and walked between them to the door, looking back at their stunned, woeful faces to give them a tearful, reassuring smile before slipping through and pulling it shut for the final time.


	5. Chapter 5

Lavellan strolled the gardens of the fortress until the sun moved behind the stone walls, leaving the grounds in shadow, yet bathed in an enchanting pink glow reflected from the clouds. It did not look dissimilar to the the settlement Clan Lavellan had once dwelt, a place she'd long ago considered her home. If she closed her eyes, she could almost travel back there, the only difference being that the language spoken here was that of the _shemlen_. She reminded herself solemnly that home was no longer there, and now she could no longer claim this place as such, either. But it was a place of reflection and serenity, and it allowed her soul the peace it needed to think of where to go from here.

There was no clan or family to go back to, and though she didn't doubt that another clan may take her in based on her admirable work in representing a positive image of the elves to Thedas, she no longer felt the draw she once had to rejoin them. So much had occurred that cast shadows of doubt on her long-held and cherished beliefs in the ancient gods, and too much had altered within her heart to put all she had discovered in her journeys aside and willingly accept what she now perceived as fables and half truths. Perhaps they wouldn't even take her, regardless of her contributions; it was likely that they would see her bare face as a sign that she had spent too much time among the _shemlen_ , and though the humans had been mostly accepting of her race and heritage to a point, they too would probably shy away from accepting her fully as one of their own, since she no longer held the title of Inquisitor to protect her. So she remained, forever a part of both worlds, but belonging to neither, in a place between places, like the Crossroads beyond the Eluvians.

She ran her hands past the planters, rustling the stocks of elfroot and blood lotus, and walked over to the gazebo where Morrigan sat on a wooden bench with her son, Kieran. He was reading a book aloud for his mother regarding Tevinter history, having his daily lessons. Kieran held a quiet intelligence behind his outward innocence, his childish appearance masking an inner wisdom atypical of other children that mostly spent their time engaged in mischief with their peers when they weren't skulking about carrying out chores for their families. Lavellan listened for a time to the boy's reading, leaning on a nearby pillar, but after a short time, he stopped.

"What shall I do next, mother?" He asked politely, keeping the book open on his lap. "Would you have me read on?"

Morrigan considered for a moment before taking the book in her hand and skimming it over. "You have finished, Kieran? T'was sooner than I expected, but if the chapter ends there, then so shall we. Consider what you have learned today, and tomorrow I will question you on your memory of this section. If your answers are to my satisfaction, we shall resume again where we left off. Before you go, though, say good evening to the Inquisitor."

Kieran looked up at Lavellan, a soft, polite smile on his face. It was not forced simply because his mother was watching, but rather he was a pleasant, genuine young man. Lavellan had thought his quiet demeanour to be shyness at first, but had caught on quickly enough that he was truthfully a mild mannered boy. "Good evening, Lady Inquisitor," Kieran said, his little voice reserved yet friendly. "Congratulations on your victory. Are you faring well today?"

She bowed her head in greeting. "Yes, thank you for asking, Kieran. I see your mother has much to be proud of… I smelled Sera's cookies when I was in the courtyard; would you like to run along and ask after one? You can tell her I sent you."

"Oh, no, it's all right," he said, his voice calm. "I have heard the things she shouts when the other children beg for one while she is still baking. I think I will… wait." He looked to Morrigan, his hands folded in his lap. "May I be excused now, Mother?"

"Yes you may, Kieran. Here," she offered him a shiny silver coin, "see if Sera will give you something when you show her this." She smiled and tussled his hair gently in dismissal, and he rose from the bench, excitedly running across the garden and through the door leading to the main hall. When he was out of sight, Morrigan patted the now vacant seat beside her and Lavellan lowered herself down, resting her hands on her knees. "It would seem, Inquisitor, that you have had a trying day," Morrigan stated evenly.

"Yes, well," Lavellan nodded, looking into those strange hawk eyes, "I suppose everyone knows, by now. The chatty nobles in the Hall could hardly escape noticing the argument in the war room, I'm sure."

Morrigan seemed to consider this a moment before answering, smoothing part of her raven black hair behind an ear. "I did not hear such things from the political leeches about the keep, but the windows of the war room _are_ but a stone's throw from this very spot, if you have not noticed. With a little magic, 'tis easy enough to enhance my senses for what other, less wilfully inclined people would only hear as muffled shouting." Morrigan paused, but not to beg forgiveness for eavesdropping, of course. "Leliana had some harsh words for you, Inquisitor, but they were not without merit. T'would have been an utter failure of her duties had she not had someone following you and your mysterious companion. If I know her, though, she and her people do not know more than the fact that you were two consenting adults, so fear not that your privacy was truly violated."

"That is true," said the red haired Orlesian as she approached the gazebo out of seemingly nowhere. Startled, Lavellan put a hand over her heart. "I am sorry, Inquisitor, I didn't intend to give you such a fright," she apologised. "I'm sorry for my behaviour earlier… I wanted to try to smooth things over; I'm not one to leave friendships in such a state, if I can help it."

"Alright, Leliana," Lavellan sighed, "but would you two please stop calling me 'Inquisitor'?" The edge in her voice betrayed her slight annoyance at the continued use of her old title. "I'm not your boss anymore, if I ever really was. I'm just… me, now."

Morrigan gave the Spymaster a small knowing smirk, and for once Leliana returned it, taking a seat on the bench next to Lavellan. "We are not accustomed to calling the people we lend our assistance to by their given names," Morrigan admitted, indicating she spoke for both of them. "I still cannot call our former acquaintance anything other than the Hero of Ferelden, or Warden, and she was just as perturbed by her title as you are of your own."

"Yes, but she will always be the Hero of Ferelden," Leliana reasoned, looking out over the grounds. "She cannot resign from having slain an Archdemon, after all."

"Indeed, that much is true; we cannot change the past. Well, except you, Inquis – eh… Lavellan," she tested the name on her tongue. Morrigan obviously referred to the time she and Dorian were sent into the future during the confrontation in Redcliffe Castle with Alexius. A small chill ran lightly up her spine at the memory. It would have been an entirely different world if she had not possessed the anchor that helped her close the rifts. "One can only attempt to be cautious in her actions so as not to affect events to come too negatively, and those events in turn change a person. Speaking of which, Nightingale, I'm certain you know of how our dear Warden fares. How has she been?"

Leliana's eyes glinted as she turned back to them. "Oh, considering she seeks to find a cure for the Calling before it eventually kills her, she sounds content in her life. You may find it as difficult as I did to believe, but she still travels with Zevran. They appear to be as in love as they ever were."

"That _is_ surprising, but as I stated, people are capable of remarkable change," Morrigan admitted, outwardly impressed.

Lavellan shook her head in confusion. "I'm sorry, can someone please tell me who this... Zevran is? And how does he know the Warden?"

Leliana's eyes brightened at the invitation to exchange gossip. _Must be a spy thing,_ Lavellan thought, preparing herself for possibly a long-winded story. "Zevran was an Antivan Crow who was hired by Loghain the Betrayer to assassinate the two remaining Grey Wardens in Ferelden and any that aided them. When we foiled his attempt on our lives, Zevran begged for mercy, and the Hero of Ferelden nobly granted it."

"I would not have described the scene as such," Morrigan interrupted. "He was well aware that we intended to slit his throat once we were through interrogating him. He struck a bargain with us, and we, like fools, accepted. Although I will admit, despite his attempts to seduce anything that breathed, he turned out to be an asset to our collection of bumbling idiots."

"Seems that way, if he contributed to the end of the Fifth Blight," Lavellan said, somewhat more defensively than she intended. Her mind subconsciously made what little comparisons it could between Zevran and Solas, and painfully, the one important difference seemed to be that this Zevran never abandoned the Warden once the Blight was over. She did her best to hide a hollow emptiness threatening to eek its way out. "If he managed to seduce her, and they're still together now – "

"Oh, Maker, _no_ ," Leliana cut in excitedly, "it didn't happen that way at all! Well, yes, it's true Zevran was a relentless flirt with everyone – _everyone_ ," she emphasised, grinning at the old memory, "but the Warden Amell wasn't interested in him in that way. Not at first. By the time Zevran joined us, she was already romantically involved with someone else, but once the Landsmeet was over, he ended things with her. It was terribly sad… Zevran was fiercely loyal to the Warden, and he offered her comfort afterwards, but they discovered there was more to their feelings than simply easing her loss."

Morrigan was clearly growing uncomfortable with this topic of conversation, and put on an air of disdain. "Now I remember why we do not often speak, Leliana, despite our long history. Do you wish to divulge everyone's secrets to poor Lavellan, _Spymaster_?" She asked, stressing the woman's title as if to remind her it was her job to hide such information. "It hardly seems like something anyone of integrity should be discussing so frivolously."

Leliana waved a hand in dismissal. "Oh, what secrets! This is all common knowledge if one cares to look for such things. Just because their relationship did not withstand the trials they were faced with doesn't mean it's some sort of 'secret'."

"Stop," Lavellan said, her fingertips lightly massaging her temples in an attempt to clear her head. "You've gone too far. Start again. Who was the Warden Amell with before the assassin?"

Leliana smiled, leaning in conspiratorially. "Why, Alistair Theirin, of course. He was not yet the King of Ferelden, though."

Lavellan's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, a sight Leliana delighted in having caused. That had not been something she had expected to hear. Then again, the Warden and the would-be King had been the only two Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden to survive the Battle of Ostagar. Traumatic events such as those tended to create bonds between soldiers, and intimate bonds were certainly no exception. "Wait," she managed, "but… were they in…"

"Love?" Morrigan finished for her, joining the storytelling with reluctance. "Oh, yes, extremely. It was disgusting," she shuddered. "I've met _trees_ with more intelligence than he commanded, and that is not an exaggeration. She could have done better, but most take what they can get in the moment."

"You shouldn't talk about the King that way, Morrigan, much less Kieran's father," Leliana chided.

Morrigan gasped angrily. " _Leliana!_ "

Lavellan stood up suddenly, thoroughly flabbergasted. Her vision swam, and a wave of hysterical laughter threatened to wash over her, but instead her heart slammed against her ribcage as she attempted to restrain her mad chuckling. " _Kieran?!_ What are you saying? How did he – I don't -" She took a moment to compose herself, hearing Cullen's calm voice in her mind, encouraging deep breaths.

Then a thought struck her. "Wait, does this mean that Kieran is first in line for the _throne_? He is a _Theirin?_ "

Morrigan paled, if it was even possible for her to pale further, and she glared at the two of them in turn. "No. _Absolutely not_. Do not be ridiculous! The both of you are utterly insane, do you realise that?!" She took a needed breath, and her cheeks flushed red. She stood up hotly, pointing a finger glaringly at the Spymaster, her eyes slanted to tiny slits like the sharpened edges of dual daggers. "You will _never_ mention this again, do you hear, Leliana? I am not above placing a hex on your foolish head, woman. Do _not_ test my willingness to do so. One more word about Kieran, and I swear it…"

Leliana slouched in a gloating fashion, as if to invite her to try, but yielded easily enough. "Oh, all right, Morrigan. I won't say anything more – other than to remind you that were it not for that 'idiot', as you call him, you wouldn't have your little boy today."

She sighed heavily, though she softened a bit at that. "'Tis true enough… Though I do not wish to discuss this any further." She relaxed and sat down on the bench as far away from Leliana as she could manage, all of them remaining silent for a time.

"So," Lavellan asked tentatively, breaking the spell the quiet had cast, "is that why they are no longer together, then? The… the baby?"

Morrigan looked aggrieved. "What? Of course not, don't be stupid. It had to be done, if they were to be spared the fate they faced slaying the Archdemon. I…knew of a spell. A ritual – it does not matter. Alistair had ended it with her before, quite suddenly, and I asked Amell first, knowing how she might… feel about it." She glared to herself. "Apparently mages don't make for good queens of ignorant populations. _He_ knew that, perhaps from the very beginning, though he had not expected himself, a mere bastard, to ascend to the throne," she laughed to herself ironically, "even though the only _reason_ he is on the throne today is because of a _mage_ ," she spat the last word bitterly.

She had reason to find offence at that, as did Lavellan. Though the King may have had to break it off with his love for political purposes, it was still one more injustice toward the mages. Perhaps if the Warden had been made queen after all, mages might have been more widely accepted, and the whole rebellion may have been relatively avoided, or handled with more care, at least.

"Still, as I said," Leliana reminded them, "she is now with Zevran. Say what you will about his original intentions, but he proved himself to be loyal, even though he had every opportunity to leave once our business was concluded. I'm glad that he remained with her. She deserves to be happy, in the end." They both nodded at that, at least in agreement on one thing.

Lavellan's shoulders slacked in mental exhaustion. "You ladies have quite the tale to tell. I'm just… a bit surprised at it. I had thought the story of the Fifth Blight to be an interesting one on its own, but the added personal drama gives it a new angle. Though it's… a bit more complicated than I'd ever imagined."

Leliana smirked at that. "And the story of the Inquisition is so straightforward, is it?" She asked, her point well made. "Romance and intrigue are not lacking among your own companions… not even you. In times of great struggle, sometimes the love of those around us is the only thing to remind us that some things are worth fighting for, and even dying for. I had my love of the Maker, and Her Holiness to see me through troubled times. My service to Justinia V after the Blight gave me purpose."

"And I had a son to raise," Morrigan added. "Had I not had the love of that little boy, I don't know what I would have done afterwards - likely, much the same thing," she admitted, "but I cannot imagine having done it without him. He has," she paused, looking for the proper sentiment, "become a part of me, in ways in which I did not quite expect."

Leliana beamed at her old friend. "Softy," she teased sweetly. Morrigan didn't object; it was true, after all.

Lavellan remained silent, her inner thoughts cast back to her own journey. She tried to imagine what would have happened had Solas not been present. Indeed, it may have ended after the Conclave had he not kept her alive while she lay unconscious after the blast. If she hadn't had his wisdom to guide her, things could have gone quite differently. Hell, they may have all died in the mountains had he not scouted with her to locate Skyhold, a ruin he had known about from his journeys in the Fade.

Feeling foolish, Lavellan began to doubt the times Solas had shared ancient knowledge or secrets he'd claimed were gleaned while exploring the Fade. How much had he really known? Had he ever really cared for her, or was it all just a ruse to get close to the ancient elven orb Corypheus carried?

Leliana sensed her train of thought and answered her quietly. "Solas knew more than he let on about many things; this much I know, for it is my job to know such things, though I couldn't begin to tell you what he kept back from us. However, I can tell you this, Lavellan, with almost all certainty: he did not lie about how he felt for you. I can tell a lie when I hear it, and I check on things that are said to me, as I have done with him. Anything he said to you, especially in the intimate moments you two shared, was truthful. If you are afraid he misled you in any way, do not worry that your relationship with him was a part of that deception."

She pulled a sealed letter out of a hidden pocket on her chest. "That is the reason I came here, you see. I have received the final report from my people. I tried to tell you in the war room, but… Anyway, I thought you'd like to read it for yourself."

She extended her arm, and Lavellan slowly stepped forward, taking the parchment gently in her hands as though it might shatter in her grasp. Her heart thundered, and her stomach turned itself over in knots, anxious with worry upon what she would find written there. Looking down at it, she didn't know if she could will herself to open it. It may very well be the last thing she ever heard of Solas, and the finality of it wasn't something for which she'd prepared herself .

Before she knew what she was doing, she sat down between them and placed the letter in Morrigan's lap. "Read this," her voice trembled slightly, "and tell me its contents."

While Morrigan broke the seal and read over the missive, Leliana pressed her lips together in a sympathetic smile, and layered her hands atop Lavellan's knee, her eyes misting slightly. "I hope that this does something to heal the damage between us. Know that if there is anything dark or secretive you need doing, my spies are everywhere. If you ever need me, wear a black feather from the tip of your left ear for an hour, then go into the nearest tavern. Find a secluded table, and my agents will meet you. Tell them anything you would tell me, and I will contact you as soon as possible."

Morrigan laughed in surprise, looking up from the parchment. "All _that_ to pass along a message? 'Tis far too much effort! You always had a flare for the dramatic, Leliana."

Leliana smirked at her. "We can't _all_ rely on Chasind magic, Miss I-can-turn-into-a-bear. And we should do this again, Morrigan; I enjoyed talking to you about old times."

Morrigan bowed her head in parting momentarily. "I cannot say I enjoyed myself as much as you have, but… I will consider the invitation. If there is time, we shall speak again."

Getting up, the Spymaster winked at Lavellan. "That's a 'yes', for her; I'll take it... Maker watch over you, Lavellan."

She watched her go, touching the end of her left ear and wondering absently how she could go about attaching a feather there. " _Dareth shiral_ ," she said, waving goodbye as Leliana waved her hand and passed through the door to the main hall. Lavellan was glad they were able to part ways on better terms, but her stomach still tightened in anxiety at the thought of what was in Leliana's report.

As if on cue, Morrigan clicked her tongue and bit her lip, concentrating as she finished reading. "Well, _well_ ," she said, thoroughly intrigued, "what have we here…?" Lavellan turned to her then, her eyes locking on the missive in nervousness.

"It says two highly interesting things," she began. "First, your... special 'friend' was last seen headed west from the battle with Corypheus, apparently quite distraught over the loss of this orb, but quickly thereafter, he disappeared without a trace, and her people cannot locate him... Second, that the village Solas reported having been raised in is nothing more than an old ruin, the name of it," she glanced back down at the parchment, quoting, "'preserved only in degraded form in ancient Tevinter mysteries'… How strange, indeed. This is _most_ peculiar…"

Morrigan looked over to Lavellan, who was sitting perfectly still, her eyes closed in concentration. Studying her in silence, she decided to speculate out loud for a short while until the elven woman could get her bearings and rejoin her. "When we sought the help of the Dalish to defeat the darkspawn, we encountered their Keeper in the Brecillian Forest, an old elf named Zathrian." She paused to wait for Lavellan, but seeing no change, she continued, "As I said, Zathrian was an older elf, but t'was difficult to tell just _how_ old, as he was completely bald. The look has a way of making an elf appear somewhat timeless."

Lavellan opened her eyes and turned to Morrigan, holding an intense stare. She could see that the former Inquisitor was unsure as to what she was getting at, so she went on, explaining, "T'was revealed later that Keeper Zathrian had placed a curse upon a group of humans that had murdered his children long ago, cursing them to live as werewolves, and it in turn extended the Keeper's life unnaturally." She saw Lavellan put her head in her hands then, and paused before finishing, "These werewolves attacked the Dalish in turn, however, and they, too, began to suffer the curse. His initial revenge had spun out of his control and was killing his own People. T'was quite a tragic situation to behold. There is nothing more to it, but… Solas reminded me of Zathrian, in some ways."

"Are you _kidding_ me with the _wolves_?!" Lavellan shouted suddenly, throwing a hand up and looking to the sky as if it would answer back. " _Fenedhis_ ," she said in mystified astonishment, "again with the fucking wolves!"

Her eyes narrowed, Morrigan tilted her head to one side curiously. "Interesting," she said quietly, wondering to herself. "By your response, I take it you have a history with wolves?"

Lavellan rolled her eyes and slouched down on the bench, her hands covering her face. "I cannot even begin to describe how many times wolves have shown themselves to be significant in one way or another lately. At first, it was just the recurring nightmares. Then there was the possible encounter in the Fade while searching for Solas. And I even heard them all around me when I survived Haven and found my way to the encampment – and _that_ one I have trouble explaining to myself the most, because I was awake at the time. I shouldn't have been able to hear wolves howling around me – I was caught in a blizzard! And I never saw them once; I heard them all around me, but only ever one at a time, and from all directions… except forward." Her bafflement was mounting into full on frustration.

A brow arched, Morrigan ventured forward with a guess. "Dalish legends are steeped with tales of the wolf. If you have had as many encounters with such visions and nightmares as you claim, then most elves would be very wary, indeed… But not you. Why is that, I wonder…? Do you not fear the Dread Wolf?"

Scoffing, Lavellan gave Morrigan a skeptical once over. "Funny, you don't _look_ Dalish," she bit sarcastically. "Solas assured me that the Dalish legends are mistaken about many things, including their interpretation of the Great Betrayal. And from what Abelas said to us at the Temple, it sounds as though he was right. So to answer your question: no, I am not afraid of the 'Big Bad Wolf'."

"And for what reason do you trust your Solas on this, but not the legends of your own People?" Morrigan pressed.

"Because they are just that, Morrigan: legends. Not truth."

Crossing her arms before her, Morrigan shook her head in disapproval. "Do not be so quick to dismiss the ancient legends. They are _born_ of truth. Were you not with me when we went to the Temple of Mythal? Did you not drink from the Well of Sorrows? And was the ancient knowledge not bestowed upon you? We passed through the Eluvian in my search for Kieran, and found him with my mother, Flemeth, who is herself, _Mythal_ – goddess of motherly protection, now someone you are personally duty-bound to obey! How could you say they are merely fables, after all you have witnessed?"

"Well, not _merely_ fables, then, but…" Lavellan made an impatient noise in her throat. "Look, Solas said he didn't believe in the ancient gods, but that he believed in whatever had started the legends - whether they were actual gods, or wealthy, cruel nobles, or powerful enchanters… No one can say. I highly doubt that they were real gods, though."

"What is a 'real god', other than someone or some _thing_ that holds great power beyond measure? And I did not ask what your ancient _elvhen_ 'expert' believed; I asked _your_ opinion on the matter. The two _are_ mutually exclusive, after all, or did he also do your thinking for you?"

Her words stung, but they rang true. She thought for a long moment, considering her words carefully, then simply said, "I'll believe it when I see it."

Morrigan remained silent, listening to the sounds of nocturnal insects chirping to life around them. "Indeed," she answered ominously, after some time had passed, "I believe you shall."

She sighed and stood up, turning to Lavellan and giving her a level, icy glare. "But know this, Lavellan: change is coming. You may be seeing more than you bargained for, soon enough. I hope you are prepared when the time comes."

Lavellan felt a cold stone forming in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to ask what Morrigan had meant by that, but the whispering, ancient voices in her mind hummed to life, confirming the truth in her statement. Thinking better of it, she kept the voices of the water to herself. There was no need to tell Morrigan she spoke the truth when it would only go to stroke her ego further.

Bowing her head, the raven-haired woman picked up her staff, which had rested against a white pillar, and said, "I wish you luck on your journeys, and I hope you find that which you seek."

"Likewise," Lavellan responded in farewell.

Morrigan descended the stone steps, turned to look over her shoulder, and added in parting, "May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent…" She walked away, disappearing through the door to her chambers, leaving Lavellan to sit alone in the chilly mountain air and absorb the full impact of the warning from the witch. Whatever change was on the horizon, she hoped she would be ready. Somehow, though, she knew that there would be no way to truly be prepared.

Shuddering from the sudden chill, Lavellan stood up and started off for the tavern, determined to have a few pints and forget this sense of foreboding for a while. She passed through the doors and walked into the main hall, and the open door to the rotunda, where Solas' old study was located, beckoned her from across the hall. Her heart skipped a beat at sight of it, and she debated going inside, hesitating to the point of being unable to make any movements in either direction. Varric was not taking up his usual place by the fireside, so there was no one present to talk her out of it. Lavellan took a breath and headed for it, but she changed her mind with such abruptness that even she was surprised at herself as she ran to the right and out the doors leading to the steps outside.

Her thoughts jumbled and flustered, she didn't look where she was going and ran headlong into a large human male in the dark with a loud _thump!_ against his metal chestplate. " _Fenedhis_ ," she swore, falling against the stone steps painfully.

"My Lady!" The man put a hand under her arm and helped her back to her feet. Straightening, she stood on the steps above him and faced him, meeting his eyes. "Are you hurt?" He asked with concern in his voice, not taking his hand from her upper arm so as to steady her.

"Oh, it's you, Rain – uh, Warden – I mean…" she tried, stumbling like a simpleton over his name.

"Blackwall's fine, Inquisit – I mean, er…" She felt better that he, too, was finding it just as hard as she was to think of an appropriate title. "What… would you prefer I…?" His question trailed off in the dark.

"Lavellan's fine," she bristled, pulling her arm away from his grasp and brushing herself off, as well as him. They hadn't been on the best of terms since she'd exiled the Grey Wardens after the troubles at Adamant, and his true identity had come to light in Val Royeaux. Still, they respected each other in their own way, if a bit more distant than before.

"Right... Lavellan, then," he said awkwardly, clearing his throat. He blocked her path, saying nothing for too long, looking about shiftily as though he wanted to say more.

"Yes… Blackwall," she filled the silence between them. When he remained in awkward silence, she made to move around him, but he stepped into her path yet again, holding a hand up in front of him, signalling her to wait. Lavellan was finding this tiresome, but found an ounce of patience within her and met his eyes, as black in this light as his full beard.

"I heard about your resignation," he informed her in his deep barrel of a voice. "I wanted to say that it has been an honour serving with you, and…" he glanced off to the side before continuing, "I wanted to thank you for keeping me on to see this mess through. You didn't have to; you could have let me die, which was all I deserved, but you put your trust in me. I appreciate your doing so."

She looked away from his gaze, feeling out of place, and nodded once. "Well, it didn't make much sense to let a valuable member of my team go to waste," she reasoned clinically, hoping he wasn't reading too much into her judgement of him. "I believe you've redeemed yourself in the hearts of the people... So now that you're free from your duties here, you can seek out the Grey Wardens and join their ranks properly, if you like."

He brightened at her words, his eyes glittering in the light of the wall sconces. "I'd like that," he said, squaring his chest and straightening to his full height. "For now though, I wondered if you would care to join me down at the tavern for a drink?"

Lavellan's eyes widened. "Oh," she stuttered, "listen, um, Blackwall, I'm not interested in – I mean, I appreciate your offer, but – "

Blackwall laughed, surprising her. "Oh, my Lady, no, I didn't presume you and I should…" He thought for a moment, amused at the prospect. "Listen, I'm not asking you to share a drink with me as a man and a woman – I just meant it as a companionable sort of… farewell… drink… Since I got your stamp of approval on it, I best be leaving for Weisshaupt to join the Wardens within the week, and thought we could share a bit of a victory pint to celebrate our, em… victory."

His lack of eloquence made her smile unexpectedly, and she breathed a laugh. She was planning on getting drunk, anyway, and she supposed it wasn't such a bad idea to have some company for a while. "Sure," she accepted, shrugging a shoulder, "I feel like I could use a stiff drink after the week I've had."

His eyes smiled as he attempted to suppress his delight, and he offered her an arm. "Well then, ah, shall I help you down the stairs, In- _clumsy_ -tor?"

Rolling her eyes in disgusted amusement, Lavellan linked her arm in his and groaned at his terrible pun. "Maker's _balls_ , Blackwall, that was _awful_."

"Don't worry," he laughed heartily, "you won't remember it in the morning!"


	6. Chapter 6

Sera peered out her bedroom window, watching as Blackwall led Lavellan down the flights of stairs to the tavern. "They're coming," she cried excitedly, giggling madly as she raced out of her room and leaped clean over the banister, landing with a light thud on the ground floor of the tavern. Everyone hushed her loudly from where they stood against the wall, and she glared at them in turn. "Oh, you tell me to shut my gob, but _you_ lot are louder than I am!" The group shushed her again, Krem grabbing her to him and clamping a hand over her mouth as she squirmed. Iron Bull grinned and shut his eye tightly to suppress the howl that nearly escaped his throat at the sight of Krem's eyes widening with shock when Sera kneed him hard between the legs to no avail.

For a time, they waited in silence, and Varric leaned out to peer at the door, as if doing so would will them to come through faster. When they didn't, he glanced around at everyone in turn, throwing them all a puzzled look. "Hey, where's the Kid?" he mumbled, searching the party for Cole, but unable to locate him.

Cassandra shrugged in reply and began to tap her foot impatiently, placing her hands on her hips, while Dorian looked impatient enough to open the door himself and throw them inside. The giddy anticipation was starting to roll over them, but Cullen placed a finger over his lips at his position directly behind the door, his hand slowly inching toward the handle as he listened for the approaching footsteps. The only one among them that was calmly waiting was Vivienne, whom nursed at the drink in her glass patiently, observing the proceedings with her signature aloofness.

When Blackwall's voice boomed conversationally, giving the signal that they were just outside the door, Josephine squeaked involuntarily, and Cullen flung the door wide, leaning his head out and spreading his free arm in a welcoming gesture.

Startled and confused, Lavellan was ushered in by Blackwall, and she stopped dead in the doorway when she caught sight of them, her eyebrows shooting up so fast that they would have flown off her forehead if they weren't attached. " _What_ – ?"

" _SURPRISE!_ " They shouted excitedly, falling into fits of hilarity at the look on her face while cheering and applauding their own success. Lavellan stood watching them, grinning ear to pointed ear, and she turned to Blackwall with a mock anger.

"Well, Blackwall, you lying _bastard_ ," she cried, punching him in the shoulder. "You said that – "

"I said we would get a drink," he chuckled, rubbing his arm where her fist had landed, "but I never said it would be just the two of us, did I!"

Lavellan threw her hands up and sighed loudly. "That's typical," she rolled her eyes teasingly, "no one ever tells me the whole story, do they?" The group laughed at that and she hugged Blackwall in thanks, to the taunting hoots of the men present. He patted her shoulder, coughing loudly and blushing with embarrassment. She kissed his bearded cheek just to see him redden further, and upon her success at this, she strode up to her friends, whom raced over to embrace her, showering her with congratulatory hugs and kisses. "You got me good," she was shouting over them, wiping her eyes and fighting hard against getting emotional on them.

Iron Bull grabbed Lavellan and threw her up to sit on his shoulder and she screeched, holding his horns tightly. He repeated this stunt with Sera, her mad giggling drowning out Lavellan's nervous shrieking. "Look, Dorian," Bull pointed mischievously, "I told you it would be easy for me to pick up a couple of ladies tonight!"

"Joke's on you," Dorian smirked, one eyebrow raised, "Sera is no lady."

"Oi, _prick_ ," Sera shouted, raising a fist at him. Then she paused to weigh this for a moment. "Eh, fair enough," she agreed, the room erupting again.

Vivienne glided over to them, an elbow resting in the hand crossed over her chest, holding her glass delicately. "If you're all quite finished, I believe we should bring Maryden in for a little atmosphere. Varric, darling, let's have a round, if you'd be so kind?"

Varric placed a hand on his chest hair as though affronted. "Why, Iron Lady, what makes you think I know anything about making drinks?"

"You're a _dwarf_ ," she reasoned, arching a brow. "Of course you know; don't be silly, my dear."

He sighed, but nodded and chuckled, skulking behind the bar and grabbing glasses and steel mugs. "All right, then," he called, "who wants a pint and who wants a cocktail?"

Cassandra, Cullen, Krem, and Blackwall sat down on bar stools while Vivienne, Josephine, and Dorian pulled up chairs at the far end of the tables they had pushed together in front of the hearth. Iron Bull began spinning in circles, causing the two elves to scream, one in sheer delight, the other in terror, both of them clinging to a horn for dear life. " _Mayhem_ ," he roared as he turned, laughing maniacally.

Varric started pouring as Maryden strummed an upbeat folk song, her voice light and melodic. "Okay," he said, removing his leather gloves and rubbing his hands together in anticipation, "what'll it be? I invented some recipes for a few interesting cocktails, if you're into that sort of thing. Oh, Seeker, you should try this one," he winked, pouring out brandy, cherry juice, and a few other sinister looking liquids to the glass after filling it with ice. "This one I dubbed, 'The Kirkwall Bomb'."

Cullen coughed, choking on a gasp of shocked disbelief, and Cassandra glared in disgust. "Andraste's Eyes, Varric," she shook her head angrily, "that's fucked up, even for you!"

"Not yet," Varric said, sliding the drink over to her. "You will be after this, though!" He shrugged under her intense stare. "What! I like to add a little ill-advised, dark humour to shitty situations! Takes the sting out. Here, Curly, I created a new shot called 'Red Lyrium'. It really packs a punch. Interested?"

"Just an ale, Varric – please," Cullen insisted, paling at the idea.

Varric grinned and put the steel mug under the spigot, filling it. "Suit yourself," he said. "A few of these, though, and maybe you'll want to try it… It's not _actually_ red lyrium, Curly, calm down."

"Same for me," Krem added, not bothered whatsoever by any of the controversial names. He glanced over his shoulder at Iron Bull. "Hey, Chief, you want an ale, or that disgusting swig you have while getting off on dragons?"

" _Ooh_ , _yeah!_ That one," Bull replied eagerly, going for another spin as Sera nearly fell off and Lavellan begged to be put down this instant. Her pleas were ignored as he cackled at their cries and continued.

"I'll bite," Blackwall said to the dwarf, curious. "You got one for me?"

Varric's eyes glinted. "Well, I'm glad _somebody_ here appreciates my creativity. I've got just the one for you," he said, handing Cullen his filled mug and leaning over the bar. "How about 'The Joining'?"

Blackwall pounded the bar with a fist in approval. "Make it a double!"

Cassandra made a disgusted noise in her throat. "So what do _you_ drink, Varric? Do you call it 'The Paragon's Stones', or 'Lying Bullshitter'?"

Varric stumbled back, feigning a blow to the chest, but he chuckled his approval. "Why, Seeker, who knew you had a secret talent for naming alcoholic beverages? We could open a tavern and name it," he dreamed, waving a hand dramatically above him, "' _The Seeker's Shield_ '." He nodded, thoroughly pleased with himself, and finished Blackwall's drink after serving Krem, whom took them with a nod and sat down at the end of the table nearest the bar. "Now, I don't know what goes into the real stuff," he muttered to the warrior, "but this is probably just as deadly, so pace yourself, Hero."

Cullen strode over to the table and put his mug down in the middle, one seat over from Josephine, raising his hands up in front of Iron Bull. "All right, all right, you've had your fun with the poor woman. Give her here," he insisted, a smirk on his scarred mouth as he reached up and grabbed Lavellan's waist, lifting her gently down.

She attempted to thank him when her feet touched the floor, but instead she careened into the chairs lined against the wall, too dizzy to stand. Sera and Bull erupted in howls of laughter and bumped fists, clearly pleased with this display. Cullen raced over to her side, trying to override his own mirth with concern, and picked Lavellan up off the floor, scooping her into his arms and taking her to an empty seat between Cassandra and Dorian, opposite his own. Her head in her lap, Lavellan waited for the tavern to eventually stop spinning around her. Josephine and Vivienne exchanged glances of sheer perplexity, shaking their heads and nibbling on the cookies from the plate in front of them as they fell into conversation about their mutual acquaintances. Picking up a sugar cookie, Dorian placed it in front of Lavellan for when she was ready to rejoin them, indicating with a glance to Bull that he should rein it in soon.

Varric walked around the long table with a wooden tray, placing drinks down for those he hadn't already served, and Sera climbed down from Iron Bull's shoulders, taking up a chair opposite Krem and beside Varric's chosen spot next to Cullen, Blackwall sitting at the head. Bull sat down on the empty chair between Cullen and Josephine, but scooted his chair back from the table, placing his elbows on his knees so as not to block Josephine's view of the rest of the gathering. He winked across the table at Dorian, whom groaned and picked up the cocktail that Varric had just given him, apparently called "Magister's Taint".

As soon as everyone had a drink in hand, Varric made his way to his chair and lifted his mug. "A toast," he said to the room, "To all our friends who couldn't join us tonight, but are always here with us in spirit!"

"Hear, hear," they cheered, drinking to this heartily.

As soon as Varric sat down, Cullen stood up with his own tribute. "To the fallen. May we lift a glass in honour of their sacrifice," he added. They raised their mugs in silent respect and drank again.

Lavellan smiled at him as he sat back down in his chair. "Oh, Commander," she smirked, "We can always count on you to lighten the mood."

He huffed and blinked four times in quick succession. "Well," he muttered, "we should all be respectful of the dead, right?"

There was a moment of awkward silence that was broken by Varric's hoarse chuckling from next to Cullen. "Fucking Fereldans," he managed to rasp out, shoulders vibrating. The laughter was contagious, and soon, most everyone was struggling along with Varric.

Cullen looked at the dwarf in annoyance, shaking his head. "Oh, shut it," he scoffed, lifting his arm to rest atop Varric's ginger hair as though he sat on a throne, drinking his ale nonchalantly. They erupted in uproarious laughter, and even Varric couldn't stop himself from chuckling, despite his red face. He removed his arm and tousled Varric's hair, shoving his shoulder so he crashed into Sera, her drink spilling over her hand.

"Bloody hell, Cullen!" Sera licked the precious alcohol from her fingers, shooting a glare at him. "Those fucking Fereldans," she giggled, "all brawn and no brains!" Cullen reached over Varric's head to take a playful swat at Sera while Varric pretended to hold him back. At the same time, Sera stood up in a taunting stance just before Blackwall pinned her arms behind her back, helping to break up the mock scuffle. This little act did much to hinder the breathing of the rest of the party, except Vivienne, whom looked on with a gentle smile, sensibly chaperoning the proceedings in case things got too carried away.

After many more rounds, their raucous nature evolved into drunken groups of conversations around the table. Vivienne, Josephine, and Dorian discussed high fashion and exchanged the names of their favourite tailors. Iron Bull, Cullen, and Cassandra reminisced on the glories of past battles. Varric, Sera, Blackwall, and Krem huddled together, clearly exchanging sordid jokes with one another. Lavellan would drop in on each conversation, though belonging exclusively to none. When one group would burst into laughing fits, she would try to listen and find out what had been so funny, only to have the laughter travel to another part of the table, and she'd miss that punchline as well. Eventually giving up, she slouched comfortably in her chair, listening to the chatter around her, happy that her friends were enjoying themselves.

Lavellan picked up an oatmeal cookie and bit into it, the buttery texture melting on her palate. She closed her eyes in bliss. "Sera," she complimented around a full mouth, "these are delicious. You should set up a shop!"

"Oh, cheers, Quizzy! I'm chuffed to bits you like 'em!" Sera nearly burst with pride.

"Yeah, Sera," Iron Bull added, "they're a big hit! I ate my fair share five or so ago."

Cassandra turned to eye the Qunari dubiously. "Do they have cookies in Par Vollen and Seheron? I'd have thought the Qunari would frown upon sweets."

"Nah," Iron Bull smiled. "Well, we didn't always have them. The Arishok discovered them and brought them back from his travels. It made him extremely popular with the civilians," he admitted.

Lavellan's interest was piqued. "What was he doing when he discovered cookies?"

Bull drank from his mug and grimaced at the taste of it, shaking his head to clear it. "Stopping the Blight with the Warden."

Lavellan sat up and leaned over, possibly a bit further gone than she'd realised at this point. "Wait, let me get this straight," she said, spreading her hands on the table. "So… The Hero of Ferelden was aided by," she counted on her fingers, "King Alistair Theirin, our Spymaster, Morrigan, an Antivan Crow named Zevran, _and_ the Arishok?" She sat back, amazed. "Did _everyone_ she ever met become famous somehow? Who else knows her?"

Varric piped up, "I knew a Grey Warden that was recruited to the order by her, but his fame is a little…" He glanced over to Cassandra, who was openly glaring at him, and he decided that angering a buzzed Seeker wasn't the wisest course of action. "Yeah, you know what, never mind," he buried his face in his pint.

Cullen raised a finger. "I knew her. I attended her Harrowing in the Circle Tower."

"That's _right_ ," Lavellan slammed her palm against the table loudly, "you said that! And we all know Cullen Stanton Rutherford, the dashing Commander of the Inquisition with the big, furry collar!" Cullen chuckled and reddened slightly, possibly at Lavellan's use of the word "dashing".

Josephine leaned on an elbow, looking down the table. "He had a thing for her," she said, a giggle in her voice.

Cullen's cheeks reddened fiercely. "I – well I mean, I never…" He stuttered, "It was… a long time ago." He shot her an accusatory glare. "How in Andraste's name did you know about that, anyway?"

"Leli and the Warden talked about you, and Leli told me," the Antivan Noble said, covering her mouth to hide her smirk.

"Maker's Brea- Wait, the Warden talked about _me_? To – to _Leliana_? Why didn't Leliana ever tell me? What exactly did she say?" He demanded. "Josephine, you _can't_ say something like that and expect me not to… to…" Cullen glanced around the table, realising where he was, the more than half-drunken faces all staring at him. He gulped audibly. "On second thought, don't say anything."

Josephine reached across Iron Bull and laid a hand on Cullen's forearm. "Oh, Commander, did you not want me to say that when she asked to get to know you better, you picked up your templar skirts and ran away?"

They all erupted, taking joy in Cullen's frozen expression caught in a moment of complete humiliation and disbelief. He patted Josephine's hand in mock thanks and tilted the entire contents of his mug into his gut, hoping it would break up the knot that had formed there, but only enhancing the hilarity for everyone else.

"No, honestly now, Cullen," Josephine smirked, easing the embarrassment and pulling away. "She found you to be very sweet and charming," she reassured him mercifully. "Despite everything that did and didn't happen, she told Leliana that there will always be a special place in her heart for you, filed under 'the one that got away'."

"Literally," Krem muttered to his end of the table as the four suppressed their giggles.

"I admire you, Commander," Vivienne added, outwardly impressed. "Many a templar and a mage have taken to the secluded areas of the Circles to satisfy their desires. You showed much restraint and discipline by refusing her offer."

Cullen somehow managed to blush more at that. "Well, I wouldn't call it 'restraint', Madame de Fer, so much as…"

"Being a total chicken shit?" Varric helpfully finished for him, much to Cullen's chagrin.

"Yes," he murmured through gritted teeth. " _Thank_ you, _Varric_."

"You're welcome," he answered, ignoring the Commander's tone. "We've all been there, Curly. Everyone has a story to tell about the one that slipped through their fingers – even me. It's a cliché, but clichés are what they are for a reason."

Lavellan fell silent, not wanting to think about that here, but unable to add anything more to the discussion. Keeping her eyes down and plastering a forced smile on her face, she ate the last bite of the cookie.

"Right then, that's it," Sera put down her mug and looked Lavellan square in the eye. "We need to have a bitch session!"

Dorian sighed loudly, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Is this the real life…?" He prayed aloud. "I don't think that's at all wise, Sera, especially with everyone liquored up as we are."

"Doin' it when you're liquored up is the _perfect_ time for it! When else are ya gonna let loose on dick-scabs who did ya wrong with no regrets?"

Cassandra shook her head, keeping her eyes on her glass. "There is nothing to say that would not suck the energy out of the evening," she said, slurring her words as she blinked longer than necessary. "I would prefer that we ended the night on a high note."

"Look, guys," Iron Bull cut in hesitantly, "not everyone wants to talk about their feelings with an audience. Maybe we should get her to hit something. Or we could hit her," he offered seriously. "It works for me!"

"Yeah, Chief, but you're not exactly the sentimental type," Krem added evenly. "Being honest with yourself is important. Plus it's good to get things off your chest every once in a while."

Iron Bull laughed heartily. "What would _you_ know about getting things off your chest, Krem? You – "

Raising up a hand, Krem interjected, "With all due respect, Chief, I know where you're going with that, and you can just leave it right there. Lavellan here is the one we should be focusing on, right now. This is her party; you can have your fun at my expense, later."

"All right, I respect that. Boss, you got anything to add to this? If you don't want to talk about him, then that's a-okay, and we go back to drinking and talking like nothing happened."

Lavellan looked around the table in a stupour, all eyes on her. Her vision was blurred and her lips tingled on her face. She was drunk and she knew it, but she stepped in, anyway. "All right, let's hear it: All in favour of a bitch session, say 'aye'."

"Aye," said Sera, Krem, Blackwall, and Varric in unison.

Cullen looked at Lavellan thoughtfully for a time. "Aye," he said quietly after a moment.

Cassandra shot him an astonished stare. "What! You think she should rant about it? For the love of the Maker, how will this help her?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked around with bloodshot eyes. "I don't rightly know," he admitted truthfully, "I think I'm rather drunk at present. Varric, I believe I'll have that red lyrium thingy now."

Standing up, Varric gathered the empties onto his tray. "I think we're gonna need a few pitchers for this one," he said grimly, making his way to the bar.

"Thoshe opposed," Lavellan slurred, counting heads, "say 'nay'."

"Nay," said Vivienne, Cassandra, Iron Bull, and Josephine together.

"Nay," Dorian objected. "Nay, nay, _nay_! Lavellan, sweetheart, don't let them put you under pressure!" He leaned in close to her, touching her arm gently, voice lowered. "I saw you just this morning. You're in no state to have the ' _fuck my ex_ ' rant. You don't even feel that way about him in the first place! You're my best friend; I'm just trying to look out for you."

It was an even vote, and therefore entirely up to her. Lavellan swayed and looked Dorian directly in the eyes, leaning forward unintentionally and pressing her forehead against his as she began to topple over. He caught her handily and propped her back into her seat, but she stood up suddenly, the chair flying back. "Okay, maybe both sides of you guys have a point, so I'm not going to say much," she blathered, barely able to keep upright on her feet and pushing her hands flat on the table for support, "but I have to _bitch_ for a minute. I need to say some choice things I may or may not remember, but at least I got them out!"

Dorian applied his palm directly to his face and groaned loudly in protest.

" _Atta girl_ ," Blackwall cheered, helping Varric with the pitchers at the bar. "Get it out of your system! Everything always feels better when you let loose. So, where do you want to start?"

" _Ooh_ ," Sera encouraged her unsteady friend, "talk about the elves! Go on, rip 'em a new one!"

"Yeah, _fuckin_ ' elves, _fuckin'_ Dalish," Lavellan swayed as Varric and Blackwall passed the pitchers down the line. "We think we have it _all_ figured out, but it turns out we don't know piss _! Fuck elves!_ "

Sera fell off her chair, practically in hysterics at this as Krem topped off her mug for her.

Josephine fanned herself with a hand. "Oh my, can she _say_ that? I suppose they're the elves, here, so they can… But can _we_ say that? Is that not racist?"

"Let's all give it a try, eh? Fuck elves!" Krem lifted his mug in salute and drank until the foamy liquid was all but gone. There was a chorus of "fuck elves" around the table, followed by giddy, nervous laughter.

Lavellan grunted angrily. "And _Solas_ was, like, _king_ of the elves, or some bullshit! He was the elfiest of all the elves I ever met, and he wasn't even _Dalish_ , so he had no excuse! So _that_ elfy fucker," she cried, pointing to the west, "can take his stupid broken ball and fuck _right_ off back to wherever he came from!"

"Yeah," Sera said, scrunching her nose up. "He was so _elfy_! I couldn't stand it! _And_ he was always brooding about one thing or another." She snatched up her ale as Krem teasingly pulled it away from her, as though she'd had enough to drink, and they both glared at one another before breaking into smiles.

Varric choked on his ale and coughed. "Oh no," he countered, clearing his throat, "I _know_ a broody elf, Buttercup, and Chuckles had _nothing_ on this guy, trust me."

"You know," Lavellan looked around at her companions, lifting a finger to emphasise a point she was making, "not to brag, but I think I'm quite a catch. I was attentive and loving to that wonderful bastard, and he _left_ me? And he wouldn't tell me _why_? _Twice_? If I ever see him again, I don't know what I'm going to do first – kiss him or punch him in the face… Maybe both." She sighed a laugh, throwing her hands up in frustration and signalling the end of her rant. "Okay, I'm done," she giggled, "thanks, guys. As you were!"

The mood reset, Cullen lifted the glass to the light, swaying dangerously, and commanded the attention of the tavern. "I propose another toast!" He quietly belched to the side, then continued, "To elves everywhere! May they be elfily elfy in all their elfiness!"

Everyone cheered and drank to that, but Cullen once again eyed the red drink warily and put it back down on the table, deciding to study it further before consuming it. He tapped it gently as he shrugged his cloak down his shoulders, draping it over the back of his chair. "This even _glows_ like lyrium… Except it's red."

Varric smirked, "Well, that's the idea, Curly. Be careful, it's just as addictive," he joked, drinking from his mug. "...Probably." He looked down the table only to discover Blackwall leaning up against the bar. At first he was surprised to see he hadn't come back to the table, but then he saw the man place his mug under the spigot and refill it single-handedly. "Hero," he marvelled, "you are a credit to alcoholics everywhere. I'm actually jealous that I didn't think of it first!"

"Just thought I'd cut out the middle man," he replied with a chuckle, drinking from his mug and coming away with a foam-coated mustache. "Ahh, that's the stuff!"

"Why aren't you sitting with the rest of us?" He wondered aloud.

"I'm happy enough over here, middle man." Blackwall made himself laugh and exclaimed, "Do you get it? Because you're short! Ha!"

"I'm not short; I'm the perfect height for a dwarf," Varric retorted with a grin. "You people are just freakishly tall."

Lavellan giggled at Varric's astute observation, and her eyes widened at noticing something different across the table from her. She reached out toward Cullen, nearly toppling his shot glass. "Ooh, ooh! Give me that," she pleaded with him.

He swatted her hand away reflexively. "Get your own," he said, still contemplating the drink in front of him. Coming to himself, he grimaced slightly. "Wait, now I feel terrible for saying that. Here," he pushed the glass toward her.

"No, not that," she waved it off impatiently. "The cloak! Give me your cloak!"

" _What_? No, that's ridiculous," he sat up straight, arching a brow suspiciously. "Why, what are you going to do with it if I hand it over? You're too close to the hearth!"

" _Cullen_ ," Lavellan boomed, staring him down. He looked at her wide-eyed for a moment, glanced at Iron Bull, then back to the elf, waiting. "If I wanted to set it on fire, I wouldn't need an open flame to do it."

"Well – you'll do it by accident, then!" He glowered, gathering his cloak in his arms and holding it protectively against his chest. "Or you'll _say_ it was an accident, thinking I'm inebriated enough to believe you."

"Oh yeah?" She threatened sarcastically, trying not to laugh, "maybe I'll do it to teach you a lesson about messing with me in the future. How about _that_?"

"Madam, you are not making your case any stronger," he smirked. "Though I will defend my cloak with my life," he proclaimed, bringing the finery close to his face. "I find it flatters me. And it's surprisingly warm!"

"It's about to get warmer," Lavellan warned him, eliciting Dorian to respond by raising his hand for a high-five. She reciprocated, and they crossed their arms over their chests and leaned their shoulders against one another, daring Cullen to try his luck against the two of them.

Josephine's eyes widened at this point, and she stabbed a finger at her chest, demanding their attention. "Do you see what just happened? I tell them, but no one ever listens to me; this is _precisely_ why these people need me! If it weren't for me, the Inquisition would negotiate in this fashion every single time!" She sipped at her glass, shaking her head. "I am so undervalued," she grumbled, lip slightly twitching.

Vivienne took everyone by surprise when she laughed heartily. "A tipsy, mistrustful templar and a drunken, power-mad mage," she mused aloud, her eyes smiling at Josephine. "I wonder if we can view the preceding squabble as a brief summation of the last decade's worth of conflict?"

Cassandra nearly spat her ale everywhere, nodding and chuckling with her head in hand over how accurate Madame de Fer's observation was.

Lavellan sighed and rolled her eyes. "Oh, fine, I didn't want your silly drapery," she lied, turning to Dorian and waving a hand toward the Commander. "Probably stinks, anyway, since he wears it every day."

"I don't know," Dorian shook his head doubtfully, giving Cullen a once-over, "I think it may smell quite lovely. Just look at the man! He must preen for hours every morning to look like that – I should know. He wouldn't _then_ put on a filthy fur; it would reverse all of his careful grooming!"

"What? I don't – Well, it doesn't take _that_ …" he trailed off as Iron Bull leaned over his shoulder, a horn caging Cullen on the other side so he couldn't lean away. "What are you doing?"

Iron Bull sniffed heavily at the cloak for a moment before coming back up and retrieving his mug. "Notes of human male musk, spritzed with a woody cologne, and a hint of lavender soap," he reported before taking a large swig. "Oh, and he spilled a bit of ale on it."

Cullen paled in mild shock at Bull's accuracy, and before the grinning fools across the table had the chance to chaff him, he picked up the shot glass and downed it in one fell swoop. Immediately regretting his decision, he coughed and pounded his chest hard. "Maker's _Breath_ , Varric, I think I'm dying," he choked. "What _was_ that?!"

Varric slapped his back helpfully. "Don't swoop it like that, it's bad for you! What did it taste like?"

Gasping for air, Cullen narrowed his eyes at the dwarf. "Like hellfire," he rasped. "Like swallowing a sword with a flaming weapons enchantment cast on it…"

"Ah," the dwarf chuckled, "then it worked! I should take up alchemy."

The party went on at full force for a time, but eventually Cullen began to rub his eyes tiredly, and though he was reluctant to stand up and announce his departure, that's exactly what he did. "Sorry to cut this short, but I, er," he stammered, "I should… retire for the evening."

"Oh, come now, Commander," Blackwall quipped, "don't pick up your skirts and run now! We're just getting started!"

"Was that last shot overdoing it a little?" Lavellan asked, rising to her feet and coming around to his side to see him off. "I hope it wasn't that, or I'll feel guilty… Are you sure you want to go just now? I'm leaving in the morning…"

"I…" he started, looking away hesitantly. He blinked slowly, feeling fatigue wash over him, and straightened, gathering some semblance of propriety and dignity around him. "We have work to do tomorrow. This was… I had a wonderful time, Inquisitor, but – "

"Lavellan," she corrected him quietly.

"Right… Lavellan… But I, uh…" He looked her fully in the face, wanting to say something more appropriate for a final goodbye, but finding the sentiment difficult to express. After a while of staring at her wordlessly, he noticed the party had paused, and even the minstrel had quieted, watching this silent display. Mortified, he threw on his cloak and placed a hand on her shoulder, as much in a companionable farewell gesture as to hold her back so she didn't try to embrace him, lest he would get too emotional in front of all these people.

"It was a pleasure working with you," he said professionally, "but I am intoxicated, and I should retire before I cause my men to gossip." He walked over to the door and opened it slowly, pausing for a moment to turn back, and added finally, "I hope you remember me fondly, as I will you…Safe journeys, my friend, and Maker watch over you." And with no more than that, he left, closing the door firmly behind him.

They stared at the door for a moment in bafflement before turning back to each other. Varric shook his head and topped everyone off from the pitcher before sitting with his arms crossed, drink in hand. "Chicken shit," he grumbled, taking a drink.

Dorian laughed slightly to himself, grinning absently at his mug. "Fucking Fereldans," he said, his shoulders shaking with mirth. They chuckled together, breaking the ice, and the party resumed.

"It's not just Fereldans, Dorian. Cullen has a point," Vivienne rose gracefully and smoothed her gown. "There's much to do in the morning, so I'm afraid I must retire to my chambers," she said, walking over to Lavellan and planting a kiss on each of her cheeks in parting. "I hope you remain safe out there, darling. If you ever want proper training in the arcane, I will put my Divinity momentarily aside just for you. I will miss you, Lavellan. Best of luck, my dear, and Maker guide you." Madame de Fer exited quietly, giving a wave to the other guests who wished her goodnight.

Josephine stood and came to stand with her next. "I apologise, Lavellan," she said quietly over the rowdiness that had ramped up yet again. "I should love to stay all night, but as Cullen said, it is probably not wise, considering our duties. You should think about getting some sleep, as well, before you go! It will be your last night on a proper mattress for some time," she smiled, embracing the small elven woman tightly. "I wish you all the happiness you can find," she forced herself to say despite the tears she fought back. "If you ever need me," she offered sincerely, "you know where I am. I owe you all the favours you could ever ask for," she joked, causing Lavellan to laugh in spite of the weeping she silently hid, wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. They hugged fiercely one more time, and then Josephine took her hand and gave it a squeeze before walking to the door and seeing herself out with a final goodbye to everyone.

Lavellan looked back to the half empty table, where Dorian and Iron Bull had taken up chairs next to each other, Dorian now in her chair beside Cassandra. Blackwall had come back, but he'd claimed Cullen's spot next to Varric, and the two clinked mugs in a private toast. She walked to the head of the table to sit next to Krem and Sera, who seemed to be getting along quite swimmingly, considering how well Sera usually got on with anyone.

From there, conversation drifted from Iron Bull and Krem reminiscing the Chargers' odder mercenary jobs, to Varric's old friends and the mischief they'd shared together, to Cassandra's tales of dragon slaying in Nevarra, to Sera's adventures with the Friends of Red Jenny, to Blackwall's failed attempts to get Varric to grow a great, majestic beard like his, and to Dorian's failed attempts to get Blackwall to shave off his beard, saying he'd be more handsome and youthful without it. After a time, Maryden bowed and took her leave, and they managed to scrape together a sizeable tip for her, which she graciously accepted. Things were rapidly dying down when Varric called for one last round before their night was ended.

As the round neared completion, Iron Bull shook Dorian, whom had started to doze comfortably against him until then, and the man slid off his lap and stretched like a cat. "Hey, Dor, let's go to bed. I've got ideas in my head that I want to show you."

Yawning, Dorian sighed, "I suppose I'll be even more sore in the morning than I anticipated." He made his way over to Lavellan, and she stood up to hug Dorian goodnight.

Then they realised suddenly through their momentary drunken haze that this would be the last they saw of one another for a long time, if ever again, and the embrace tightened desperately as unexpected tears poured from both of them. Burying their faces in each other's shoulders, they didn't notice Cassandra's approach, her own tears standing out on her cheeks, and they moved to include her. Varric and Blackwall entered the fold soon thereafter, and Iron Bull wrapped as many of them as he could in his arms at once. All of them together let their emotions pour out over Lavellan as they kissed her cheeks and wished her well in whatever she found on her journey. Emotions were high, and goodbyes were always difficult, especially among such close friends as she had had the good fortune to encounter in her life.

They filed out of the tavern and said goodnight, thanking each other for the memorable time spent together. As Lavellan watched them go their separate ways, she ran a hand through her fair, shoulder-length hair and let out a deeply contented sigh. She should have been ready to collapse on her bed, but her mind had other ideas, as usual. Walking through the courtyard, she took in the stillness of twilight, saving the peaceful images of Skyhold in her heart for the times to come when she knew she would most need them. It had been a perfectly bittersweet send-off, and Lavellan believed that, despite everything she had been through, the friends she had made here would be irreplaceable. Still, she felt there was one more thing she could do to say goodbye to the one person who possibly needed it most.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

He sat up in his bed, gasping for air, his eyes shooting open only to be greeted by the darkness of the loft above his command post. The nightmares were no worse tonight than they had been in the past, but Cullen felt more vulnerable to their sway due to his intoxication. Chilling images still flashed through his mind of cold, harsh stone, barriers that never opened, and unrelenting, unforgiving, monstrous demons preying on every stray thought he betrayed, delving into his memories and using them as sharpened weapons to tear at the flanks of his mental defences. He could still hear their cackling, their cutting words spat from forked tongues, hissing and seething with rage at his unwillingness to cooperate. They'd starved him to the point of near death countless times, and would give him sustenance as though offering him mercy, believing he would be fooled into letting his guard down, or worse, that he would be thankful to them for keeping him alive when they could have just as easily watched him die for his insolence.

One by one his brothers had fallen, either by trickery, possession, or to the merciful clutches of death. He had at first prayed to the Maker for the strength to defeat the demons, but as their numbers had dwindled, he'd merely prayed for their survival and continued resistance to the torture. When he alone was all that remained of his comrades, he came to the terrifying conclusion that the Maker had truly abandoned him in his darkest hour, and reached out to Andraste to give him the courage to die as she had, to be taken to the Maker's side as swiftly as possible. The desperate wish for the sweet release of his mortal chains was all that he could have hoped for then, but it never came. They'd kept him alive, like a cat toying with a dying bird, just to watch it flail with broken wings to no avail.

He was still unclear how long he had been held against his will, listening to the bone-chilling screams flooding from the Harrowing Chamber, like being doused with waves of fresh blood each time he heard them. Every single time, he'd bitterly hoped it was a mage, and not a fellow templar suffering up there. _They_ had done this to him, to his friends, his brothers in arms, his Order; they deserved whatever they brought upon themselves. He wanted them to feel the full consequences of their bargain with the demons, and he prayed vindictively to Andraste that it hurt far worse than it sounded from where he sat caged and abused like a wild animal.

Then suddenly, they had come for him, promising to set him free, full of pity for his plight. He'd thought them another fabrication, a trick, just one more false hope to torment him further, but they would not vanish when he rebuked them, like all the other visions had before. And Amell stood amongst them as their leader, covered in the blood of mages and templars alike, but nevertheless a painfully beautiful reminder of what once was, what had once been, a comfort to him. She'd had the gall to suggest that she could save them all, and he could have strangled her right there had it not been for the barriers, despite the freedom she offered. It was easy for her to assume she could do it; she hadn't been there, hadn't seen the walking nightmares day by day, week by week, or even month by agonising month. She risked possession herself just by opening the chamber door. The Grey Warden was truly delusional, he had thought, but in hindsight it was he who had been driven to the point of madness.

For many years after what he'd long considered his own, personal Harrowing, he despised mages. Few templars felt differently, but most had only been taught the dangers posed by magic wielders by the Chantry and the Templar Order, whereas he had experienced it all firsthand. They were all walking time bombs set to go off, with no indication of when it would occur. It had made him vicious, cold, callous to the perceived struggles of the Circle of Magi. He'd taken no chances, spared little sympathy for them, and suspected demons and blood magic behind every door. It had nearly turned his heart to stone, and his time imprisoned had left him scarred, having taught him to guard his every thought, to deny himself every desire, so as not to be vulnerable to one more mage's curiosity or stupidity toward the threat they constituted to all of Thedas simply by existing.

When Knight-Commander Meredith had been in charge in Kirkwall, he'd felt confident that she was as vigilant as he would have been against the constant threat mages presented. So convinced was he of their righteousness that he hadn't seen what was apparent to others. Many mages had been imprisoned and even raped under her watch, and Meredith had abused the Rite of Tranquillity to force subservience if even one word was uttered against her. She had also begun exposing herself intentionally to red lyrium in place of the blue lyrium that all templars ingested to hone their abilities to counter the dark arts. In truth, lyrium merely made them all dependent addicts, and guaranteed that very few templars dared to defect from the Order, as trade was highly restricted, mined by the Dwarven Kingdoms exclusively for the Chantry. But the red lyrium was entirely different in its effects, and it drove Meredith to insanity and brutality before transforming her into an abomination as horrifying and dangerous as any demon-possessed Circle Mage had ever become.

The shock of seeing his Commander, the person he had pledged sword and shield to obey without question, frozen in the clutches of death in the square of the Gallows, had shown him plainly enough that steadfast vigilance could be taken too far, and that it had a high price, that cost being one's very soul. He understood then, all too clearly, that not only demons from the Fade could rob him of his humanity; one could become an inhumane monster simply by refusing to recognise the vulnerable in society as also deserving of life, thereby becoming the very thing they were determined to fight against just as easily as if they'd been possessed by a demon themselves.

He could have moved to arrest those who rose to defend the mages against the Knight-Commander's invocation of the Rite of Annulment, but the horrific sight of Meredith's twisted, crystallised corpse had showcased dramatically how low they had stooped, and he'd perceived for the first time just what he'd almost become. The realisation had rocked him to the core of his being, and he shuddered to think what would have happened if on that day, he hadn't received his moment of clarity. He'd let them all flee the city: Hawke, Varric, the Chantry Bomber Anders… All of them. It didn't matter anymore, because the Mage Rebellion had already begun right there in the Gallows, and there was no turning back. Perhaps Anders had been right, that it had started long before he'd acted, but there was no undoing the damage the Bomber had done at that point. His execution would have only served to make him a martyr, and the incitement of the mages was one thing for which he refused to be responsible in his new command.

He stopped seeing the mages purely as half-empty vessels waiting to be filled with a demon, as merely the larval forms of abominations, and recognised for the first time in nearly a decade their innate humanity. In so doing, he also rediscovered his own, and he could not bring himself to justify the genocide of men and women fighting for the right to live and be respected as the Maker's children. At the same time, though, he'd witnessed too much in his life to be convinced that mages could truly govern themselves, all the while resisting blood magic and the temptations of demons trying to gain a foothold in this world. If they were to succeed, indeed if Thedas was going to survive this, the templars had to get back to their root purpose: to protect the mages from the rest of the world, and from themselves.

But the Order had altered from its course dramatically. Despite his efforts, templars defected and turned to offensively battling and killing the apostates. They had given the mages further cause to fight back, accelerating the rebellion into an all-out war. So many innocents had been caught in the crossfire, and though he strived for control, it had been apparent that he was not going to convince them to stand down. The Conclave failed at its negotiations for a ceasefire due to yet another explosion, and just when everything had been plunged into utter chaos and darkness, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast had offered him the position of Commander of the Inquisition Forces, assigned with restoring order and neutralising all threats, be they Mage or Templar, Demon or Darkspawn. They'd had one last chance to unite Thedas against a common enemy before the tear in the sky destroyed all they had ever known and loved, and they'd succeeded in closing it once and for all, thanks to the unlikely aid of an elven apostate. Mother Giselle had been right after all… The dawn had come. It was an unspeakable relief.

Still, military training does not cease simply because wars are ended. There were new recruits to toughen up, new challenges to meet, unfinished missions to carry out. So much to be done, so much left to accomplish. He didn't blame Lavellan for resigning; in a way, she was right, and she was now superfluous to the cause, a figurehead only of the Inquisition, but that didn't mean that they didn't still need her. Yet she had sacrificed so much, and he knew as well as anyone that, at times, it was better to keep one's sanity and humanity in tact before the job demanded that they too be sacrificed on the altar of duty and obligation. He hoped she knew it had been worth it all, in the end.

Tasting bile in the back of his throat, he reached for the pitcher of water he barely remembered bringing up with him before falling asleep. _I've had entirely too much alcohol_ , he chided himself. He didn't normally indulge that much, but then again, he'd hardly ever had the opportunity to before. Even so, to spend quality time with the Inquisitor and her companions before her departure had seemed more pressing; he didn't know when he'd get another chance to celebrate such victories again.

Cullen drank the icy liquid greedily, his head still swimming. That last shot had pushed him over the edge, and he'd immediately regretted asking Varric for it upon swallowing the horrid concoction. Normally serious, he still had a difficult time believing he'd downed a drink named after something so devastating to the Order –

He felt the air blow in and shift the temperature in his loft before he heard the door to his command post creak quietly open. Frozen in place, his eyes darted to his sheathed sword, propped against the wall, and he calculated his ability to silently retrieve it. He reached toward it slowly, pulling it noiselessly to him, and laid it flat on his lap. He was shirtless, and therefore vulnerable to more fatal attacks. Unfortunately, his shield was below him, leaning against his desk. Usually he was prepared for any incursion, but he'd stumbled about in a drunken haze and had prepared for sleep in a half-assed manner.

Frustrated with himself, he strained to hear over the humming in his ears and the sound of his own intoxicated, heavy breathing. He couldn't get it under control, and he swayed slightly, his tongue the texture of cotton in his mouth. How he wished he could drink his water at that moment, but he could just make out the slight shuffling of feet on the floor below him, heading for his ladder.

The intruder did their best to ascend the ladder quietly, and had he been asleep, he was almost certain they would have succeeded in taking him by surprise. In an instant's decision, he laid down on his stomach in what he assumed was the most natural-appearing sleep position, his sword hidden beneath him, the chill of it an odd comfort against his body. As the potential assassin reached the loft, he realised belatedly that he'd not removed his sword from its sheath. _Maker's Breath_ , he scolded himself angrily _, I am a terrible drunk. I will never drink again!_ Sighing quietly, he admitted to himself grimly that if he was killed tonight, that would be a relatively easy promise to keep.

The floorboards creaked quietly in the darkness as the individual approached him. When he walked on them, typically the boards groaned, straining beneath his weight, so he surmised that whoever this was was considerably smaller than himself. That would be a great advantage if he had to overpower this opponent, but who would be so thoughtless as to send such a small assassin? Perhaps that was part of the deception. After all, Leliana didn't look as though she posed a threat… Well, no, that was untrue; she looked as deadly as anyone he'd ever met, but she was small, and there was a kind of macabre logic to appearing harmless and weak, if one were an assassin. Targets would be more likely to let their guards down for them, as he was making himself appear to have done. _No_ , he corrected himself, _I_ have _done. I'm such a fool and I'm going to be killed for this mistake, after everything I've –_

Someone sat down on his bed at waist height, and placed a cool hand on his burning back. He thought for a moment that they were testing his alertness, or searching for a vertibre to plunge a knife through to paralyse him, but the small hand had a gentle touch, and it travelled over his skin to his shoulder blade, tracing bone and muscle with a fingertip. The intruder lay beside him then, and placed a tender kiss on the back of his neck.

Eyes going wide, he rolled without hesitation to his right and underestimated the length remaining on the mattress in the poor light, toppling noisily to the floor. " _Andraste's Blood_ ," he swore, struggling to get his aching legs under him.

"Cullen! Are you hurt?"

He stopped short, the breath temporarily knocked out of him from utter shock. Staring at his bed, he found sitting on it a semi nude elven female, clothed in nothing but his red cloak – fur pauldrons, gold embroidery, and all. He'd left it haphazardly on his desk, and she would have found it upon entering the office. One naked leg protruded from the draping cloth, the knee bent seductively to better display her uncovered skin in the faint moonlight.

Looking down, she found the sheathed sword and picked it up."Oh," Lavellan said shakily, taken aback, "do you… always sleep on your sword like that?"

Unable to find his voice or the words to answer her question, he rose and took the weapon forcefully from her hand. His heart was in his throat; nothing like this had ever happened to him before, and his breath came shallowly, making him woozy and lightheaded. He placed his palms on the stone wall, feeling the coolness of the hard surface on his hands, and followed it up by placing his forehead against it for good measure to steady himself.

He heard her giggle quietly behind him just then. "Deep breaths, Commander," she encouraged, and he caught the smile in her tone. She must have found it a bit funny to be dispensing advice he regularly had to give to her, but at the moment, he didn't see the humour in the situation.

After a minute, he turned his head slowly to check that he had not just woken up from another nightmare. No, she was still there, and she looked him over curiously in turn, waiting for him to return to her side. "Oh, sweet Andraste," he muttered breathlessly as he came to the realisation that he would eventually have to go back to his bed.

"Am I an answer to prayer?" she asked, the smirk evident on her lips even in the darkness.

"More like confirmation that the Maker has surely abandoned me," he grumbled. " _That_ , or he enjoys playing cruel jokes on the faithful." He turned to face her then, steeling himself to meet her gaze, but found the sight of her too problematic for his answering body to withstand, and averted his eyes instead.

"Why do you say such things?" She sounded hurt, perhaps even insulted at what he had said.

He blushed intensely, glad that she couldn't tell in this light, and his usual stammering in such situations kicked in. "No, I didn't mean – that is, I don't think _you're_ a joke, I only meant that... I _can't -_ Oh for pity's sake, woman, why are you here?!"

She paused, evidently unsure of herself, and moved to place her bare, delicate feet on the floor, leaning back on the bed so the cloak opened slightly to reveal a strip of flesh from neck to naval. "I thought that much would be obvious," she uttered somewhat shakily.

"It is!" His hands clenched at his sides until he nervously crossed his arms over his bare chest, feeling entirely too exposed at the moment. "That's what I – I don't understand… Are you well?"

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," she smirked again.

"No," he tried once more, meeting her eyes, "I mean, I – Inquisitor – "

" _Lavellan_ ," she corrected him for the second time in one evening.

"Whichever you prefer! Have you lost your mind, or just your way to your bed?" He shifted his weight anxiously and concentrated on the floor before his feet. Would she not stop staring at him for one moment?

She crossed her legs and sat forward, attempting to make her purpose in his loft quite clear. It was all too painfully clear for him, and his throat closed involuntarily when she next spoke, "I think I found my bed for the night…"

Cullen ran a trembling hand over his face, now completely sober. "Maker preserve me," he almost begged. "Herald – Lavellan – wait, I need a moment…" He began pacing, not knowing how best to dismiss her without damaging their friendship. He gulped air as though it was on short supply, and attempted to be as cordial as possible. Finding her clothes in a neat pile on the landing at the top of the ladder, he bent over and gathered them, keeping his eyes averted as he walked over and handed them to her.

"But Cullen – "

" _Please_ ," he pleaded with her, "for my sake at least, before I suffer a heart attack and collapse right here and now…"

In anger, she snatched her clothes from his grasp, and he turned around to offer her some semblance of modesty. " _Fine_ ," she spat, throwing the cloak around his feet. Sheepishly, he picked it up and threw it over his bare torso, his head down until she gave the all-clear. "I was only trying to be nice, you know," she argued, but he heard the catch in her voice. He had rejected her, and it pained him to hear her so thoroughly upset with him. The rustle of her clothes at last ceased, and she stormed over to the ladder to descend, but he caught her arm before she could reach it.

"Lavellan," he began softly, "we need to have a talk about… er… Don't leave this way. Not yet. Let me explain…" Cullen slowly released his grip on her arm and walked over to his bedside table to retrieve the glass of water, trusting her to follow him. When he turned to look at her, glass in hand, she stood glaring at him, fiery and bristling with aggression. Closing his eyes, he shook his head slowly from side to side, wondering how he could make her understand, if he ever could.

After what seemed like ages, he sat down on his bed and held out the glass for her to take. She needed it more than he did; he'd seen how much she'd had to drink, and he doubted that she was anywhere near in her right mind to make such a proposition to him. Surely this plan of hers had been some poorly, alcohol-fueled afterthought, or even a sordid suggestion planted in her head by one of her many inebriated companions.

She slumped down on the foot of his bed, as far away from him as she could sit, taking the proffered glass and sniffing at the water as though checking it for poisons first. When she sipped it cautiously, she purposefully avoided his gaze, scratching at her ear in the way she did only when she was mulling over things in her mind. He waited for her to finish the water before venturing to speak.

"Um," his voice trembled, fighting his racing heart for control, "listen, Lavellan… I did not intend to – to…" he searched for the proper words before continuing so as to avoid his usual nervous stuttering and pausing. "If I have offended you in any way, I beg your forgiveness. I'm at a loss for what to say, but if I may ask… Why did you come here, tonight?"

Lavellan didn't move from her place in the dark, but she let out a stuffy sigh and sniffed loudly. _Maker, she's crying_ , he realised belatedly, and he wanted with all his heart to comfort her right then, but his nerves got the better of him. Instead, he grabbed the pitcher of water from the bedside table and sipped straight from it, trying to relieve the dryness in his throat and giving her a moment to reply. He refilled her glass and placed the pitcher back on the nightstand with a nervous hand.

She drank, this time taking a few gulps before removing the glass from her mouth, moistening her lips. Even so, she croaked, "I don't know… I thought that if I came here, I could… properly thank you for all you've done for me."

He was staggered at the admission, and said as much. "I'm astounded that you would believe the proper way to thank me would be to – " And then he worried that he'd possibly been culturally insensitive to the poor girl. "Oh, I didn't even think… Is this a Dalish custom?" That seemed to rile her up again, and she rounded on him, blatantly offended. "Wait," he cried, trying desperately to recover, "I'm sorry, I just don't understand exactly – "

She scoffed, "You think I'm here to fulfil some kind of _clan_ obligation?! Cullen Stanton Rutherford, of all the – "

"Please don't use my full name like that," he said, irritated. "You sound just like my sister."

Her large, green eyes rounded impossibly, and her mouth fell open just then. "Is that what this is about? You think of me like a – like a sister?"

"No, of course not – I mean, well… maybe a bit." He noticed the harsh look she gave him and immediately regretted the comparison. "No, it's – it's not like that at all! Stop looking at me that way. I… Oh, Maker's Breath," he implored her, "would you let me explain?" His heart in his throat, he closed his eyes and rested his head in the palms of his hands, elbows propped on his knees for support. "Deep breaths," he told himself quietly, expanding his lungs slowly before letting the air out again.

"Cullen," she asked gently after a time, moving toward him and placing a hand on his shoulder, "is there… something that you need to tell me? If you're honest with me, I'll understand, and no one has to know except you and me."

He raised his head and met her eyes, thoroughly bewildered. "I beg your pardon?" He had no idea what she was getting at.

Lavellan rolled her eyes almost playfully, but looked at him full of sympathy. "You know," she replied, shrugging a shoulder. "You're not… interested?" He still wasn't comprehending her meaning, and arched a brow, indicating that she needed to elaborate, causing her to look away, embarrassed. "In women, I mean?"

His abdomen lurched unexpectedly, and he made an involuntary gurgle deep in his throat. "I think I'm going to be sick," he said urgently, stumbling to his feet and rushing to throw open the window and douse himself in the icy mountain air. The chill struck him squarely in the chest first and foremost, and spilled over his arms, causing goosebumps to stand out everywhere, shocking him enough to distract him from the somersaults his stomach pulled.

When he had sucked in enough of the crisp, humid air to regain his composure, he slammed the window shut again and turned to face her. She was shivering from the cold, causing him to laugh unexpectedly. He pulled off his cloak and threw it into her lap. "Put that on," he ordered her like she was one of his greener recruits, "I may have to do that again, if you keep it up." He placed his hands on his hips, no longer feeling self-conscious, or no longer caring enough to be, slowly pacing the length of the bed.

She slipped his red cloak over her clothes, hunching her shoulders as she crossed her arms over her chest, bringing the furs to her face to warm herself. "Is that not it…?" She ventured cautiously, doubting her summation of the evidence before her.

"No, that's not ' _it_ '," he angrily asserted, "but is that the first conclusion you come to? A man doesn't take advantage of your drunken stupor, therefore you question his – his – As if _no_ man could ever _possibly_ resist your rather forward advances otherwise, or have any other reason in the world not to bend you backwards and – "

"Well, _excuse_ me," she glared heatedly. "I suppose you gave me the wrong impression back at the tavern! And here I thought I could give you a proper farewell, but you're apparently too cowardly to take me!"

He rounded on her then, taking firm hold of her shoulders and bending to look down upon her. Fear materialised in her eyes, and reflexively, flames sparked to life in her palms, which he dispelled immediately without a moment's hesitation. "Bloody mages," he cursed under his breath. " _No magic_ , is that understood? This is a discussion, _not_ a battle!"

"It doesn't feel like it," she shouted back, her voice breaking, choking on a sob. "Do _not_ lay a hand on me again, _templar_." She jerked free of his grasp, and his head spun wildly with the after-effects of his earlier drinking.

"All right," he sighed, collapsing on the bed beside her, "all right… This has gone completely wrong… That was very unlike me, and I… humbly ask for your forgiveness. I'm…" he swallowed audibly, "not that man, anymore, or at least I thought I wasn't. Perhaps alcohol doesn't agree with me more than I thought… I won't do that again, I promise you." He lay back on his mattress, splaying his arms out on either side of him, staring at the rafters and feeling an empty tiredness creep up on him that he hadn't expected. "If you want to leave, now, I wouldn't blame you at all," he admitted. "I feel like an absolute ass."

Lavellan sat still, holding her arms protectively over her abdomen and trembling from the shock of what had just happened. She needed time to think; that was understandable. So did he, if he was being honest. _If she leaves right this minute_ , he thought regretfully, _I will never forgive myself this transgression._

As if he'd spoken aloud, she turned her body and laid beside him, her head resting against his arm, and she let out one shuddering breath before hot tears spilled forth onto his skin. Alarmed, he turned toward her and gathered her to him like a child, patting her hair and murmuring over and over, "I'm sorry, I am so sorry, Lavellan…" She needed someone to lean on, and he offered her his strength to borrow, sheltering her and rocking her gently.

"I want you to know," Cullen spoke in hushed tones, "that I'm flattered that you would think to…" He couldn't even bring himself to say it aloud, so he moved on, "I can't give you what you desire of me, Lavellan. This… sort of thing… isn't something I can do casually…" He felt her stiffen in his arms, and before she could rise to take offence at him, he added, "It's not something I think you can do, either; don't misunderstand me… If I were going to have such an opportunity with a woman," he confided in her, "I would pray that it would be with someone that I loved deeply. I know you feel the same way, and that's why it would be wrong to let this continue. I hope you can see that this is not a rejection, not in the true sense…"

She wiped her eyes on his shoulder and hugged him close in the dark. "No, it's not something I would normally think to do, you're right about that… I never considered this," she hesitated, perhaps afraid to hear the answer, "but what if we were to… try a relationship?"

His eyebrows shot up at that, the question taking him by surprise. "I'll admit that the thought had at one time occurred to me before," he said quietly, unbelievably free of his typical stammer, "but you don't actually want that. What you truly want is to ease your sorrow, even if only temporarily, and you wouldn't achieve that in the slightest. To let you use me to that end, knowing that it would only cause you further heartache in the long run, would be unworthy of me. I care about you too much to see you give up," he said, giving her a gentle shake of the shoulder.

Her brow furrowed and she leaned up on an elbow, looking into his brown eyes with remorse. "Oh, Cullen," she sniffed pitifully, "I'm so sorry… I didn't mean for you to think I was using you to get over…" Her sentence faded off into the darkness, and she sighed, sitting up on the bed, head in hands. "I never intended to insult you in this way. This was a terrible idea, and I did a lot of damage by coming here," she said mournfully.

"You didn't insult me… That was a poor choice of words on my part." Sitting up, he placed a hand upon her back and rubbed encouragingly. "I only meant that falling into another relationship so soon after what happened to you would only serve to destroy our friendship, and I'm not willing to sacrifice that… Over the years, I've come to realise that life is fleeting, and humans – and elves," he amended, "are fragile creatures, when you get past the tough exteriors. If there is something that you feel called to do in this life, something that you want with all your might, you should pursue it… And don't settle for anything less than that."

She breathed a laugh, surprised to find such depth to him. "Wise words, Commander," she nodded slowly, thinking to herself for a moment. "You're right, that isn't what I truly want… But…" She hesitated, the words evading her.

"Go on," he urged her. "If you need help sorting things out, maybe I can offer some advice. So tell me: what's really troubling you?"

Lavellan kept her eyes cast down at the wooden planks, running a hand through her hair and resting her chin in her hand as she leaned forward on her knee. "I don't know anymore, Cullen," she admitted forlornly. "It's difficult to explain what I'm feeling… You might find this hard to believe, but yesterday, everything seemed so simple. I mean, yes, there was the battle, but there was a goal to work towards. And after we won, for a moment, I thought that," she swallowed hard, emotion threatening to get the better of her, "that he would finally come back to me… But then I saw the state he was in as he just... sat there, bent over that stupid broken orb, and I..." her voice threatened to cut her off again, but she continued hoarsely, "I knew I'd lost him forever, even before he turned and said 'what we had was real'. And when he disappeared, I felt like a big part of me, of who I was, left with him."

Cullen nodded in understanding, feeling an empathetic emptiness fill him. "You had purpose before. So once the battle was over, you felt like you were left adrift. That's a common sentiment among soldiers," he consoled her, "but you had hoped that when the conflict had ended, you'd be free to be with him, at last. When that didn't happen… Yes, I see what you mean. It would certainly go a long way to explain why you weren't taking much part in the celebrations in the Main Hall, last night. I suppose I wouldn't much feel like celebrating, either. I'm sorry, I didn't see that before."

"And yet you tell me to pursue him, even though he's made that virtually impossible… He's gone forever, Cullen. Should I spend the rest of my life pining after him like a desperate fool, never to have that dream realised, or should I move on with someone else more… deserving?" She asked, meeting his eyes, the question she'd wanted to ask left unsaid.

He sighed, brushed a hand through her fair hair, and tucked it behind her pointed ear. "No, not me, my dear," he answered it with a whisper, anyway. "I'm sorry, Lavellan, I cannot bring myself to see you in that way, and I don't think you really feel that way about me, either. I said earlier that a part of me sees you as a sister, but it's not quite that straightforward; I have my siblings, and then I had my brothers among the templars. The bond we shared is near enough to the one I have now with you. And though you may think that jumping into bed with me would make you forget him, it won't. You will never forget him, and if you don't at least try to find some answers, his memory will continue to haunt you… I'm not the one your heart cries out for, and you and I both know it. It would be a lie to say otherwise."

Lavellan shifted to lean against him, and he touched his head to hers, hoping he'd let her down gently enough. She sighed loudly in frustration and shook her head. "This isn't fair," she groaned tiredly. "Why can't I move on from Solas?"

He turned to stare at her profile in the dim moonlight, smiling sadly and running a finger across her face to wipe away a stray tear. "I don't know," he replied quietly, "Why can't you _allow_ yourself to move on…?"

She stared back at him openly, the sorrow welling in her eyes again and her lips trembling slightly. "I've tried, but…" Her mouth closed, and a lump caught in her throat, cutting off anything more she might have said. She looked away, ashamed.

"Maybe you should consider that carefully, and then decide what you should do going forward," he advised tenderly. He looked her over then, moving her head with a large, calloused hand so that she met his eyes, and she stared up at him with gratefulness in her expression, the fur on his cloak framing her face. "If it helps," he offered her, "whatever reason Solas might have had for leaving you must have been incredibly good."

Her brow furrowed in curiosity. "Why is that?" she wondered.

He smirked and brushed the hair from her eyes, blushing slightly. "Simply because," he reasoned, "I can't imagine he would ever leave your side voluntarily." He watched her smile until tears threatened to well up in her eyes again, and it warmed his heart to see it. "So don't be too hard on the 'king of the elves', dear Lavellan," he grinned, unable to resist a reference to her earlier rant.

She laughed quietly then and he embraced her for the last time, resting his chin atop her head and rubbing her back in reassurance. Satisfied that he was able to steer her in the right direction, he walked her to the ladder and kissed her bare forehead in parting. Choking up, she mouthed her thanks, squeezing his hands in hers, and then she shrugged off his cloak, handing it back to him. He took it in his arms, smirking sadly as she turned to descend the ladder, leaving the command post silently, the cold night air chilling his face so that he felt a single tear standing out on his cheek.

"Deep breaths," he whispered to the darkness, and walked quietly back to his bed.


	7. Part Three: But Not Forgotten

Lavellan closed the door of the command post slowly to avoid the usual creaking of its hinges, and leaned her forehead against the icy wood with a small sigh. The chilly air bit at her skin, prickling over and penetrating through the thin material of her grey uniform. Turning around to face the night, she made her way across the stone platform, hugging her arms close to her body to protect them from the worst of the chill, plumes of breath misting before her face. The sky above was clear and bright, the half moon hanging like a torch to guide her steps and the distant stars winking at her as though to let her know they kept her secrets.

Though she knew she ought to pack her satchels, the task seemed daunting at this hour, and she resolved to gather her provisions in the morning at first light. All she wanted now was the comfort of her thick blankets warming by her chamber fireside. It was the last chance she would have for a long time to sleep comfortably; Josephine had been right about that, and she was desperate for the soft mattress that would offer her the sweet oblivion of a good night's rest.

Absently, she reached out and opened the door in front of her. She had to yank this one, as the wood had expanded and was jamming against the stone. It made a creak that echoed through –

The rotunda.

Lavellan felt a cold lump forming in her gut. She had walked this path so many times before that it had become second nature to take it back to her chambers. Naturally, she had used the shortcut as an excuse to visit with him. Solas had obviously known this, as she made no attempts to disguise her purpose there, but he never teased her for it. Still, his eyes would involuntarily light up at her entrance every time. Even if he was facing away from her when she passed through, he'd always known it would be her using that door, as no one else bothered to use the path. His shoulders would stiffen for the briefest of moments, but he would keep his eyes on his studies, clearly trying to give her the impression that his heart wasn't racing with anticipation at her arrival.

She half expected to find him within, scouring through old tomes, reading at his desk, or studying the walls where he would paint his next mural… But of course, he was gone. It was the first time she'd ever stood in the room and he hadn't been there. It was empty of far more than just him, now.

Lavellan walked slowly over to the desk in the middle of the room, where the over-sized candles still burned their slow wicks, melted wax oozing down from the tops and pooling in their silver trays. Running her hand along its dark, sleek surface, her fingers began to tremble with the strain of holding herself together. She closed her eyes tightly in frustration and clenched her fists, turning away from the sight as it burned her eyes and refusing to lose it again, regardless of the silent privacy of the study. She'd already fallen to pieces in front of Dorian and Cullen today, and though they'd been warm and tender to her, she didn't intend to make a habit of this sort of thing. She hadn't even allowed herself to cry after he'd taken her _vallaslin_ and left her in the glen that day, too shocked to take his final words seriously. Though she tried to understand, she couldn't fathom why he had to leave as he did… Not for the life of her.

Her eyes opened to gaze directly at the mural where he had depicted the forming of the Inquisition. It was a beautiful piece; to tell the truth, the whole room was a marvel to look upon, and all Solas' careful thought and planning had created such awe inspiring works for which she could never hope to have a shred of the talent he commanded at his fingertips. Taking a closer look, she found it interesting that he'd gone with the seemingly appropriate metaphor of a pack of wolves, howling in unison, as though to declare to all that they were now a pack, sharing all the bonds that were implied between them, and a true force to be reckoned with.

 _Wait_. She squinted at it again, staring at the wall in a new, horrifying light. _Howling wolves?_

Lavellan fixed on the image, her body paralysed with icy shock, blood rushing from her face. "It _can't_ be," she muttered, her thoughts racing to and fro at a dizzying speed. Her eyes darted quickly around the room, mind spinning faster than her body, taking everything in, every detail of the pieces assaulting her anew. _Wolves… Wolves everywhere_. Even the unfinished sketch depicted the barest outline of a snarling wolf, standing over the slain corpse of a dragon. She had never noticed any of this before; after all, she had merely considered it a clever metaphor before now.

Her heart racing in her chest, she threw herself up the scaffolding and turned to view the room in its entirety. The rotunda was spinning less, but what she saw there didn't waver in its significance, nor did it make any sense. Could it all just be a cruel coincidence, or something more? What more could it possibly mean?

She collapsed, her feet tucked under her as she fell to her knees on the wooden planks, staring up at the blackness of the floors above her, all residents gone to bed for the night. Everything was eerily silent, save the ringing in her ears. Lavellan wanted to lay down, to curl into a ball and sleep here for the night, but she didn't think she would be able to, surrounded by everything she had left of him in this world. The urge to speak his name aloud was great, as if the sound of it alone would somehow cast a spell and manifest him here before her, but she didn't dare, lest it actually would and he see her this way. For all her shortcomings in this area, for all her desperate need to hold him again, she still had her pride and she wouldn't allow him the pleasure of having shattered her heart.

But he had. All the pride in the world couldn't deny that stark fact.

Shoulders sinking in defeat, she closed her eyes and wept silently in the dark, allowing herself to grieve the loss once and for all. Her breath came out ragged, and she covered her mouth with a trembling hand. If she allowed herself this momentary lapse of control, maybe she would be done with it for good. She told herself sternly that it would be the last time, but she was uncertain of how she could give herself such a guarantee. The wound was still fresh; it would need time to heal, but when could she expect to move on if every time she dreamed she felt as though he watched her from some intangible distance? It was wishful thinking, but harmful nonetheless.

All of this would have been easier if he had been cruel to her in the end; then, at least, she would be able to rationalise the loss and move on. This, however, was something entirely different; he hadn't wanted to end it, that much was agonisingly clear. If he really needed her to stop pursuing him, though, why hadn't he been more harsh? Perhaps the answer was in what Cullen had said to her earlier: he must have had good reason to leave… and Solas had always been reasonable to the point of sacrificing his desires for the bigger picture. But this only begged the question: What was the bigger picture, the grand scheme, according to Solas?

Too many questions, and all unanswered, unknowable, or lacking enough information to speculate and come to anything even approximate. She had long since stopped her sobbing, instead staring forlornly at everything and nothing all at once. Sighing and drying her face on her sleeve, she stood and slid down the ladder, walking back to the desk and letting her knees buckle so she fell onto his chair, weak and entirely drained of all energy, no longer able to move or think. The red upholstery still smelled lightly of him: lemongrass soap, green plants mingled with warm sunshine, and a hint of male musk.

She curled upon the cushions and turned herself sideways, leaning her cheek against the back of the chair so she could close her eyes and delude herself for a time into believing he was nearby. It worked; there was the sense of another present with her, and she held onto that hopeless dream that he stood not far from her, letting her drift off to sleep as he continued reading by candlelight.

"Goodnight, _lethallin_ ," she whispered to him, her mind beginning to cloud over with sleep. " _Ar lath ma..._ "

Her slipping mind heard words in answer that could never have been spoken, but the desire to hear his voice conjured them in a dreamlike state before slumber all the same: " _Ar lasa mala revas, vhenan… You are free…_ "

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

She awoke with a start to her leg falling off the chair. Her eyes glued shut, she rubbed at them to rouse herself, painfully aware of the previous night's exploits, as it reminded her with its incessant pounding. Lavellan held her head steady with one hand, reaching out blindly for the desk in front of her. How long had she been out? There were no windows to speak of, so the hour wasn't clear, but based on the silence above her in the rotunda, she doubted it was dawn as of yet. Only a few hours of sleep she'd caught, then. _Better than nothing, I guess_ , she shrugged to herself. Her hand finally met the desk and she held steady on it for support, lowering her boots to the floor.

As she lowered her forehead to press it against the cool, varnished surface to soothe the dull ache in her head, she found something soft obstructing her. She couldn't remember there being anything on the desk other than the candles before her dreamless sleep, and she frowned in puzzlement. Opening her eyes, she discovered laid out in front of her a packed rucksack and a carefully folded pile of enchanted white mage attire. The robes gleamed under the candles' light, like snow glittering underfoot from a torch at night. Propped up against the desk was her old familiar staff, newly embedded with a powerful rune that glowed faintly red. _Dagna_ , she smiled, picking up the robe carefully and finding between the layers a torn bit of parchment, on it written simply, " _Inquisitor, stay safe out there. Go have an adventure! – D._ "

Lavellan chuckled quietly, touched at the dwarf's thoughtfulness. She held the robe out in front of her, admiring the craftsmanship. It was beautiful yet practical, and upon sliding it over her shoulders and placing her arms in the sleeves, she discovered it had enchantments placed upon it to protect against the cold. This would help considerably to combat the icy chill of the mountains. Moved once more, she made to look inside the rucksack, but found it packed so neatly that she decided to wait until she was on the move to inspect its contents. She strapped it on and tied it securely around her waist. It wasn't too heavy, and there was still room for her to store other provisions; that would come in handy, as well. Sighing, she nodded to herself, deciding to stop off at the kitchens for food and supplies first, and then she would get under way.

Her heart sank slightly at the thought, and she raised her misting eyes to inspect the rotunda once more before departing. The wolves still towered over her, and she stared at them, an unexpected feeling pushing past the hurt confusion: comfort. Whatever this animal had meant to Solas, it had held some significance to him, and for that reason alone she found herself coming to a sort of peace with him. The turmoil she had felt before was beginning to erode away. She felt a shift within herself, one of acceptance and forgiveness, and she welcomed it as a bittersweet consolation.

She had nothing to remember him by, she realised sadly, save the memories she held so dearly. There was nothing here left to take for a keepsake, though her eyes travelled throughout the room, searching in vain. Finding no objects small enough to take with her, she felt the burning behind her eyes once more threatening to spill forth, and instead she talked aloud, speaking to him as though sending a prayer up to whomever should happen to listen and deliver her words to him.

"I don't know where you've gone," she said in hushed tones, her words reverberating through the rotunda, "but I want you to know that I won't forget you… I don't know if I'll ever understand, and I wish… you had trusted me enough to be more open." Her voice began to tighten, but she swallowed against her aching throat. "I expect you had your reasons… I hope they were worth it. Knowing you, they were." She ran her hand along the surface of the desk and wiped a stray tear with the other.

"Remember me, my Heart, and know that I will never stop loving you… _Dareth shiral_ …" She adjusted the rucksack on her back, set her staff out before her to guide her steps, and exited the room out to the main hall, not looking back.

Lavellan spent a short amount of time in the kitchens, gathering dried meat and fruit rations, a hunk of cheese, half a loaf of bread, a small pot and a wooden stirring spoon. There was just enough room left to store a few fresh vegetables, but that was all she could manage to carry. She would have to keep on the lookout for food constantly on her way down the mountains.

There was someone else to whom she had meant to say her farewells, but her stealthy search throughout the keep turned up nothing. It was her sneaking suspicion that he was hiding from her, but she said nothing aloud; if he wouldn't appear to her, she couldn't force him to come out. After waiting for a brief moment next to the open keep gate, she looked around at the empty courtyard, devoid of all signs of life. Letting out a small sigh, Lavellan closed her eyes and turned from Skyhold for what would be the final time.

As she made her way down the stone walkway and the sky above her began to lighten with the coming dawn, stars beginning to fade, she couldn't shake the strong sensation of being watched.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

He watched from the shadowy shelter on the upper floor of the stables as the Inquisitor turned and walked out of Skyhold. He'd been more or less following her for most of the evening, not visible to anyone. Now that he could better control whether he appeared to those around him, he sometimes found an odd sort of comfort in hanging back and observing things as he once had done at the White Spire, though then it had not been by choice. Normally, the ghostly wandering left him feeling lonely or desperate, and though he felt that way now, it was for an entirely different reason.

Rhys had been able to see him. Every time the mage had approached him to speak to him, he had been startled. Most people who had contact with him forgot not long after he'd interacted with them, but Rhys had been different. Maybe it was because he was a spirit medium, or maybe it was because over time, they had developed a friendship. Either way, he was grateful to him for continuing to care. Cole had hoped that he and the Inquisitor were close enough that she would not forget him, but the elven mage had gone the night without so much as ever speaking his name to anyone, and it left him with the same sinking feeling of fright, of falling into non-existence once again. He didn't like that feeling, much less the fact that it reminded him of scarier times.

Another friend, another abandonment.

He'd lost Rhys and Knight-Captain Evangeline, the only two people he'd ever considered friends. He'd lost Solas not two days ago, whom had been the closest thing Cole had ever had to a caring father. Now he was going to lose the Inquisitor, too. The others remembered him, but aside from Varric, most were apprehensive of him, if not outright hostile toward him. The Inquisitor had given him a chance to prove his usefulness and good intentions, and time after time, she'd shown herself to be a helper and protector; that made Cole happy.

She had even found and helped Rhys and Evangeline when they needed it, and he would be forever grateful to her for doing it despite his nervousness, preferring instead that they simply forgot him. But they hadn't forgotten him, and even regretted the way they had parted ways with him. Cole didn't want to think about that horrible day; that Rhys had said he was sorry for what took place between them then was good enough for him, and he was willing to move on from what had happened.

But he couldn't forget those feelings of devastation and loss, and he was experiencing it all over again right now.

Varric had invited him to the tavern the previous night. He had been excited to attend the surprise party, but after overhearing from some passing mages who typically didn't notice his presence that the Inquisitor had resigned her position and was leaving Skyhold, he had panicked. Vanishing from sight, he hid himself away on the top floor of the dark tavern as they sat below him, his feet dangling over the edge, head resting on his crossed arms on the wooden railing. For the entire duration of the festivities, he merely listened to them, wishing he could bring himself to join them in their heartfelt goodbyes, but he just couldn't do it. So he had sat there in the darkness, feeling the shadows pulling him back to the dark place, to rejoin the black void in becoming nothing and no one again. Varric had made a toast at the start of the night to friends that were with them in spirit but couldn't attend, and he wondered if Varric had been referring to Cole, just then. He hoped so… To be remembered mattered more to him than anything in the world.

He'd also heard the Inquisitor say some mean things about Solas that evening. Was she mad at him, or was it the drink talking? Didn't she understand why Solas had to leave? He knew that Solas hadn't told the Inquisitor everything, because when Cole had tried to talk to him about the thoughts he often dwelt upon, Solas had avoided the subject, or had asked him not to pry. He even went so far as to shut his mind from Cole so he couldn't read his thoughts, anymore. He didn't understand why Solas couldn't just be honest; after all, he had done the right thing, and he had tried to help. Why was that something he couldn't forgive himself for?

When they left for the evening, they had embraced, and he'd stood, his legs shaking, wanting nothing more than to race down the stairs and surround himself with his friends, but he was too scared. He simply watched, believing that _someone_ would talk to her, convince her to stay, say _anything_. But they had said nothing, except things like "good luck" and "be careful". This wasn't something she _had_ to do – not that he could see. She could stay, just like Cole could, and he wouldn't have to be lonely… but she was leaving forever, leaving him behind. The fact that she didn't need to go just made the hurt that much harder to bear. She was leaving because she wanted to, and no one was trying to talk her out of it, even though they were all sad to see her go. Why didn't they at least try to stop her?

When they ended their night, Cole had followed them out silently, keeping to the shadows in case they should sense him despite his invisibility. Nobody did, however, and once again, he was the Ghost of the Spire, or in this case the Ghost of the Keep. He didn't know if that made him feel relieved or sad that he wasn't seen by them, even though that was his intention. He'd followed the Inquisitor for some time until she ascended the stairs to the Commander's office. Why would she go there…? She was tired and had a long journey ahead of her. But then, he'd remembered the scenes from long ago in the Spire, of mages, or templars – or mages _and_ templars, as had occurred on occasion – and he decided he didn't want to know. It felt like a betrayal, but he didn't know whether it would be a betrayal by him to follow her, or a betrayal of Solas' memory by her. Still, Solas had walked away from her quite some time ago; he didn't want to hold this against her, but it still felt wrong to him, somehow.

Instead, he'd turned and climbed the steps to the main hall. Thinking of Solas made him want to be near his things, and he'd gone to the rotunda to think and be alone. It looked somewhat the same as he'd left everything, but his books and parchment were gone. Nightingale had come through with a few of her spies earlier, turning the place upside down, in search of clues. They wouldn't find anything, he knew; Solas was careful with his secrets even when it came to Cole, but they'd had a look around, anyway. When they had left, he'd put everything back the way it was, for the most part. He'd sat on the scaffold, back against the wall, and had kept hidden. He didn't need to hide, here, but it felt right; if Solas wasn't visible, he didn't feel he ought to be, either. It made him feel closer to him in that moment.

When the Inquisitor had come in, Cole had been dozing. The screech of the wood grinding against the stone wall had roused him, and he'd watched in stunned silence as she'd walked inside, equally as surprised as he was that she was even here at this hour. She'd stood there, not knowing what to do with herself for a time, and he watched her as she made her way slowly to the desk, running her fingers over it as she had stroked the skin of Solas' face, sometimes. He could feel her sadness like an empty, bottomless chasm… It reminded him of the gaping wound in the earth near Adamant, the Abyssal Rift, a living testament to long-ago horrors that remained in the barren wastelands, dark and impenetrable… and she was perched on the cliffs near its edge, just hovering… wondering if she should lean forward and fall, embracing the darkness inside her.

But she'd walked away from it, and he'd breathed a relieved sigh. He hadn't realised he was holding his breath until then. She'd looked at the walls to distract herself, at Solas' paintings, and he stared curiously, watching her admire them… But her eyes had gone wide, and she was spinning around suddenly, looking from picture to picture in a dizzying rush, like a rabbit sensing a predator. "It _can't_ be," she'd whispered, though the echo of her words reached him easily enough in the silence around them. She had noticed something, and he pried into her mind just enough to find out for himself what had caught her attention.

 _Oh_ , he'd realised suddenly _, it's the wolves_. Solas liked wolves; he'd thought of himself as a lone wolf, wandering the world in solitude, hunting and searching for a way to fix his past mistakes. Cole had offered to help, but Solas had insisted it was something he had to work out for himself. He didn't like not being able to help, especially when it was someone who was important to him, but he didn't understand the problem enough to know how best to aid his friend. And if Solas didn't let him heal the hurt, or make him forget it, then he was at a loss for what he could have done differently. Maybe if Cole had done _something_ , he would still be here with them, and Solas' sudden disappearance only made Cole feel responsible in part, like a failure for not doing more. The Inquisitor had a new hurt because Solas had an old hurt that couldn't be healed by Cole...

Then she'd rushed up the scaffolding, standing directly next to him. He'd frozen in place, not daring to look at her lest she see him and he be discovered. The only movement he'd dared to make was to pull the brim of his large hat down so she didn't brush against it. As she'd fallen to her knees and begun to cry, though, his heart broke for her. She missed her wolf, and Cole wanted nothing more than to comfort her. He'd risen silently to his feet, squatting down next to her, and he'd stopped just short of touching her shoulders. His hands hovered over her weeping form, frightened and unsure of what he should do. If he appeared to her now, she might be upset with him for having hid from her, or maybe she would think he was spying on her. Instead, he'd sent waves of comfort and compassion her way, and after a moment, her tears had slowed and stopped falling altogether. She sat next to him, just thinking to herself, and he remained still and listened to her, the shoulder on which she unwittingly cried.

Why had she wished Solas had been cruel when he ended their relationship? She presumed it would have been easier on her, but wouldn't it have hurt more that way? He couldn't make sense of her thoughts. Did she want to forget Solas? He'd wondered then if he should help her to forget, but… that wasn't what she really wanted. He decided that unless she asked him, he wouldn't try. It might be worse if she did; she would forget, and not know the difference, but Cole would know… But why did that matter if he wasn't going to see her again? Could she move on if she didn't have those memories that hurt her so much? Maybe she just needed to find peace with it… Varric had said it was a human thing, to learn and grow from experiences. He was probably right, though it didn't do him much good.

After a time, she had moved away from him, and he watched her as she went back down to the stone floor and sat tiredly in Solas' armchair. She was exhausted, but the old familiar chair still smelled of him, and he could sense her desire for him to be there. _Solas_ , he thought, reaching out to his old friend desperately, _she's leaving, but she wants you to be with her. She needs you… We both need you. Where are you?_

 _I know, Cole,_ came the answer. _I am sorry._

Startled, Cole had kept perfectly still, listening for more. He could feel Solas with him, then; the connection was tenuous at best, but it was there nonetheless. How had he done that? Cole thought only _he_ had possessed such abilities, but he was elated that his friend could communicate with him on this level; it made him feel much less alone.

"Goodnight, _lethallin_ ," she had said sleepily, drifting away into slumber. " _Ar lath ma…_ "

 _She says she loves you, Solas… Please, help her,_ he'd reached out again, channelling his thoughts toward him.

 _Watch over her, Cole, for I no longer can._ Then, the voice inside him had taken control of Cole, giving him words to speak aloud. Unable to do otherwise, he had said, " _Ar lasa mala revas, vhenan… You are free…_ " Undisturbed, the Inquisitor had fallen asleep on the chair, and Cole had done as he was asked, watching over her as she slept. He wondered if she had heard him, or if she had fallen asleep before the words could be heard. She hadn't wondered where the voice had come from… Perhaps Solas had been too late.

Hours went by, and Cole stayed alert in his spot on the scaffold, perched like a cat upon a high shelf. At some point, two dwarves had entered the rotunda soundlessly, and he watched cautiously as the Arcanist and the Scout placed clothes and a rucksack on the desk in front of the Inquisitor. They had tiptoed back out just as quietly, but after they closed the door again, he'd heard them giggle and talk in hushed voices for a time. The two were good friends; they weren't the only dwarven women in the keep, which kept Varric happy for some reason, but they were small in number, and he assumed they had all forged a close friendship. After they had walked away from the door, Cole quietly slid down the ladder to peruse the items they had left for her.

As he had reached across the desk, though, the mark on the Inquisitor's hand had sparked to life violently. He'd stumbled back in surprise, not knowing if she had woken up, but she hadn't noticed it happening. Did it do this often, he wondered? It pulsed menacingly, and her hand twitched briefly in response. It was possible that it had always done this, but she'd grown accustomed to the sting it gave her. His brow had furrowed as the energy pulses crept up and engulfed her wrist. He couldn't remember it ever having gone past her palm before…

A feeling of dread had consumed him, watching helplessly as it spread up her forearm. This couldn't be anything good. It gave him a bad feeling, and he didn't know why, but something was very wrong. He'd wanted to wake her, frightened that the mark might hurt her, but he'd stood frozen as it threatened to travel even higher. When it had finally reached her elbow, he had decided to act, and pushed her knee so her leg fell off the chair, jolting her awake. Retreating back to the shadows, he watched as her mark died off, like water being doused over a campfire. It had petered out before she was able to open her eyes, and he'd breathed a sigh of relief. As she'd looked over the things on the desk before her, Cole worried and fretted. Did she _know_ it did this? Was it going to _hurt_ her? She'd made no indication that her arm was sore; at least she wasn't in any pain over it… _yet_ …

She had put the robe on, and it was then that he'd realised that she was getting ready to leave. He felt himself sinking, becoming desperate, unable to stop her but unwilling to just let her walk away. Just as he had decided to reveal himself, she began speaking to the room, and as he realised to whom she was talking, he reached out beyond himself once more, opening the channel. He felt rather than knew Solas could hear through him as she spoke, and when she'd finished and walked out of the rotunda, he'd felt Solas' response. He kept it to himself, though, and his heart broken for them, he had sulked and followed after the Inquisitor.

After she'd taken food from the kitchen, she'd wandered the keep and the tavern quietly. At first, he didn't know what she was searching for, but when she'd made her way to the top floor of Herald's Rest Tavern, his usual hiding place, he'd known right then that it was himself she sought. _She remembers me_ , he realised, overjoyed that she was looking for him to say goodbye, and that he wasn't fading away like he'd thought. He had wanted to come out, to make himself visible to her just then, but he remained motionless as she made her way past him, unsuspecting that he was right beside her. Like a child, he had hid from her while she looked, hoping that if the Inquisitor couldn't find him, she would be forced to stay longer to seek him out. He'd come here to the stables to wait her out, as it offered the best vantage point of the courtyard and the main gate. Eventually, though, she gave up, and the fact that she didn't remain to see him hurt badly, creating inside his chest an ache that made him want to cry and run after her, grabbing hold of her robes to beg her not to leave him all alone here.

Now, he watched as she turned and walked through the main gate. A great sadness washed over him, and he felt himself slipping into the blackness again. She was gone, and eventually the others would undoubtedly make him feel unwelcome here… Varric would have to leave, too, going back to his life with his other, older friends once the Seeker let him go. He didn't need her permission, but Cole knew that they had a mutual respect between them now, and he would stay for as long as she asked him to. After he left, though, there would be nothing for him here, no one to defend him or his reason to remain with the Inquisition: to help people who were hurting…

Jumping down to the ground floor and landing in the hay, the steeds began to whinny, sensing him despite not seeing him, and becoming agitated at his presence. Hurrying away so as not to rouse an annoyed Horsemaster and a hung-over, snoring Blackwall, he rushed soundlessly to the keep gate and peeked around the corner. The Inquisitor was halfway down the wide stone walkway, her head down, walking briskly away and leaving her life there well and truly behind her. He hesitated, not knowing what he ought to do. Tears stung his eyes as she grew smaller and smaller in the distance, and with one nervous question to himself, he suddenly knew what he had to do.

_Watch over her, Cole, for I no longer can._

He had to protect the Inquisitor… Whether she knew he was there or not.


	8. Chapter 8

Lavellan opened her eyes slowly to the sound of incessant rainfall outside her field tent just south of the village of Crestwood. The air that blew in through the tent flaps was humid and chilly, and she shivered from the cold, tucking her bare legs back under her brown blanket. Though the wool was itchy, it was still preferable to the alternative. At least it was warm beneath the cover on her cot, the body behind her providing heat and thawing her shivering bones.

Solas turned to her then, his breathing indicating that he still slept peacefully beside her, and he gathered her to him in a possessive embrace, his knees tucking comfortably behind hers. He sniffed once before moving his face to the back of her hair, nuzzling her softly as he moaned dreamily. Grinning, she giggled to herself, pushing her face into the pillow so she didn't wake him. He didn't normally act so affectionate when awake, and sharing a bed with him was akin to sleeping next to an adorable mabari pup. The best part for Lavellan was that Solas had no idea how absolutely, unbearably lovable he was when he wasn't conscious of it.

A few minutes passed like this, and she wished that it would last forever, but he moved away from her, lying on his back and breathing deeply, having eventually woken up. She rolled over to look at him, her knowing grin plastered to her face, unable to wipe it away. He stared up at the tent ceiling, coming round and looking as though he was lost in contemplation. When he finally turned his head and smiled at her, his blue eyes widened in surprise and he let out a deep chuckle.

"What?" She asked, propping herself up on an elbow and staring in befuddlement, "What is it? What's so funny?"

He closed his eyes tightly, the vibration of his shoulders rocking the cot beneath them. "At times like these," he struggled to reply through his laughter, "I am extremely grateful that I don't have any hair."

"Eh?" She reached up with her free hand, feeling the mass of frizzy bed hair atop her head. The humidity was never kind to her. "Is it really that bad?" She groaned, sitting up and wrapping the blanket around her so it covered the blonde chaos.

"Is that a serious question?" Solas covered his eyes with a hand, still cruelly chuckling at her misfortune. He peeked between his fingers to look at her, and she let the blanket fall to her shoulders, exposing her hair to him again, and he shook harder. " _Vhenan_ , you look absurd! I am sorry, but it's the truth!"

She nudged his shoulder playfully. "Oh, be quiet, baldy," she teased him, trying to brush her fingers through the tangled mass. "At least I _have_ hair."

"I would rather be bald than deal with whatever _that_ is," he laughed, holding his hands up in front of him and shuffling away as she swatted at him. "Stop! Stop, you're hurting me!"

"The feeling's mutual," she pouted as she relented, though both of them were fighting smiles that threatened to overtake them with mirth again. "Anyway," she added as an afterthought, "it wouldn't be in such a state if you hadn't insisted on pulling it last night, so it's _your_ fault."

His eyebrows shot up at that, a mischievous smirk dazzling her. "I needed something to grip, and your hair was the most obvious choice… You did not complain at the time, unless those muffled cries I heard were protestations," he said cockily, lacing his fingers together and placing them behind his head on the pillow.

Lavellan rolled her eyes. "Oh, I see how it is, then," she teased. It was time to pull out her secret weapon. "I suppose if we're sharing embarrassing stories, then you won't mind me telling you what you did before you woke up."

He shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye, frowning seriously. After a brief pause, he sat up, full of nervousness and hesitation. "Oh?" He asked warily, clearly concerned he'd done something amiss.

She leaned into his face and rubbed her nose against his, teasing him quietly, "You were cuddling me…!"

"Oh, _fenedhis lasa, vhenan_ ," he swore, sighing and pulling the blanket away from her, burying himself within it and collapsing back down onto the pillow. "You had me worried!"

"Is it as bad as you thought?" She smiled adoringly.

"Worse, so much worse," his low voice came out, muffled through the fabric.

"But you were so _sweet_ ," she protested earnestly, trying to pull some of the blanket back to cover herself. He didn't relinquish an inch of it to her. "You _snuggled_ me!"

"I am _not_ sweet," he chastised her jokingly, "I am grim and fatalistic. And _cynical_ , mustn't forget cynical. That one's important."

" _And_ sweet!"

"Lies, _vhenan_ , all of it! Why must you lie like this," he was chuckling under there, and she dug with her fingers, trying to locate his ribs to tickle him. He jerked away, seeing her intention, and she made a noise of mock dissatisfaction, standing up carefully and slipping on her smallclothes.

As she pulled a tentative hand through her hair, he stole another peek at her. "Shall I call for a healer? Maybe they can save it," he said, fighting a chuckle again. "Seriously, you should see how _wild_ it is!"

She sighed and shook her head. "I wish we had mirrors all the way out here," she said longingly.

"I could get you an Eluvian, perhaps," he suggested, sitting up. "Yes, that would probably be for the best, I think."

"What good would that do me?" Lavellan wondered, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

The grin on his face let her know that he was about to tease her once more. He tried his hardest to hold in his laughter, but it came out in small bursts as he answered, "Well, you could go through - and hide your head in shame forever. Honestly, _vhenan_ , I do not know how you will tame it with anything short of blood magic."

"Why _you_ – "

"Or perhaps we can summon a _spirit_ , and we can barter your soul for a magic comb!"

Solas howled with delight as Lavellan lunged at him, and he raised his arm, opening the blanket and enveloping her within as they giggled and fought playfully, stealing kisses within their small shelter before he stole her away to the glen.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

The Inquisitor had stopped briefly at the base of an outcrop in the mountainside for a late breakfast after a tiresome hike through the white landscape. Cole watched quietly as she stared into the small campfire, lost in a memory. He shivered in the icy breeze, but he couldn't figure out a way to get close enough to the fire without her noticing him. Even if he did manage to remain hidden from her, his footprints in the pillowing snow would surely give him away. So, resigned, he sat cross-legged above her, out of her line of vision, watching her stare blankly into the flames, her mind elsewhere.

As he concentrated on absorbing what heat he could from the sun hanging directly above and in front of him in the midday sky, she shook herself back to the present and reached for the rucksack, opening it carefully and removing the provisions she'd packed. Once they were out of the way, she folded the sides of her bag down to expose the tidy package within. On it was a folded bit of parchment, and an eloquent hand had neatly scrawled, " _Lady Lavellan, May your road lead you to warm sands. Love, Josephine._ " Smirking, she untied the knot and pushed the rope aside, winding it to save for later use.

Inside the package, which had been wrapped in a large, folded blanket, were useful items and a few trinkets, each with a note attached from a different companion. Cole leaned over curiously, thankful that he didn't cast a shadow, and read over her shoulder eagerly. The first item she picked up was a small kettle, and within it, carefully wrapped dry tea leaves and a few sugar lumps. This one was from Dorian, as the note attached to the tea cup read, " _Dearest L, It will warm my heart to know that as I take tea each morning, somewhere out there you are doing just the same. I will miss our chats greatly. Love and Kisses._ " He'd signed it with an overtly extravagant signature, which seemed entirely appropriate considering who it was from. She turned the note over, and on the back was written hastily, " _Bull's gift was deemed too inappropriate to include. Consider this gift from both of us… as a couple_." The Inquisitor chuckled softly and placed the tea leaves and sugar to the side, scooping fresh snow into the kettle and setting it on the fire to boil.

Upon further inspection, she found a hand-carved wooden dining set, including a plate, bowl, three-pronged fork and soup spoon. They were polished to a shine and beautifully crafted, delicate little griffons carved around the edges and along the handles. Cole had observed Blackwall working with wood often, claiming it kept his hands busy as he waited between missions at Skyhold. Admiring the craftsmanship, she ran her hands along their surfaces. He hadn't sent a note along, but had chiselled a simple _B.W._ into the undersides of the plate and bowl. She had forgotten to take anything like it with her, so it was a good thing Blackwall had the forethought to provide them.

She unwrapped what appeared to be several thick, palm-sized biscuits, hardy for travel, and a few sugar cookies, all clearly from Sera. Again, there was a note written on a napkin, barely legible, and it read, " _These'll keep ya from goin' hungry. They'll sit in your stomach for a good long while. Wouldn't want you survivin' Corifanus and dragons and stuff only to die cos there weren't any berries on the bushes, or somethin' equally as stupid!_ " Again she laughed at that, wrapping the biscuits and cookies, and reaching for another item.

This one was a book, one of Varric's bestsellers: _Hard in Hightown_. It was a brand new copy, and the leather cracked satisfyingly as she opened it to the title page, where his message was written: " _So you've read_ "Tale of the Champion", _but I don't think you've had the pleasure of reading this one, yet – not all of it, anyway. You'll need good escapism literature, and this is as good as it gets (he admitted humbly). It's based on a friend of mine. I've already got my next book mapped out, so if you ever catch it in print, tell me if you recognise any of the characters! You know where to find me, and if not… Ask the Seeker. She probably knows. – Varric Tethras_ ".

The kettle began to boil over, and he watched as the Inquisitor wrapped her palm in a cloth napkin to remove it safely from the flames, setting tea leaves in the cup and popping a single lump of sugar in as she poured the steaming liquid to steep while she continued searching among her items. Cole's stomach gurgled quietly, and he eyed the biscuits ravenously. He wondered if he would be able to sneak one for himself later tonight – after she'd fallen asleep, of course. That would probably count as stealing, but he knew she would give it to him if he asked her, so maybe it wouldn't hurt to only have a bite or two before going to look for his own food later.

Glancing back over to the Inquisitor, he saw her carefully breaking an official looking seal, the wax kept perfectly in tact, and she unrolled an ornate scroll. Upon it was the Seal of the Chantry in the top righthand corner, along with the date it had been produced. With a beautiful, careful hand was written: " _By Order Of Divine Victoria, Rightful Successor To The Sunburst Throne, The Bearer Of This Scroll, The Former Leader Of The Inquisition, Lady Lavellan, Herself A Female Dalish Mage, Is Hereby Granted All Freedoms Of Travel And Movement Throughout All Of Thedas Where The Chantry Yet Holds Influence, And Bears All Responsibilities To Her Person And Maker-Given Powers Therein, For The Remainder Of Her Many Blessed Years. May The Maker Watch Over All Of His Children, And Guide Them To A Place Of Peace_." The bottom of the order displayed a grand, winding signature and another wax seal, most likely from Vivienne's personal ring. The Inquisitor sat reading it over and over again, her hand over her mouth, gone utterly silent.

It had never occurred to Cole that she might encounter trouble as a mage travelling alone, and by her reaction, neither had she; as a Dalish, she probably never needed to worry about such things before… Of course she would face resistance, though; even Rhys, Red Hair and the Old Woman had needed permission to leave the Spire, and Knight-Captain Evangeline was sent along to escort them on that fateful mission. Cole reminded himself that it wasn't a simple escort, but either way, the point was mages weren't typically allowed outside the Circles. He knew things had been different since the Mage Rebellion with all the apostates running around, clashing with the templars on the battlefield, and after the Inquisition had offered the mages a full alliance, things had mostly quieted down. Maybe they had only calmed for the mages, though… Everyone else in Thedas was likely still scared of people who could command magic. He didn't think Vivienne would have an easy time being accepted; people didn't like change. Wasn't she going to be the first mage to ever sit on the throne?

Putting the scroll aside carefully away from the snow, she found a larger package wrapped in a familiar red cloth. Once unfolded, it was revealed to be none other than the Commander's deep red cloak, fur collar and all. Shocked, Cole wondered apprehensively if it was some sort of lover's memento, but the Commander's parchment hinted nothing to that effect: " _Lavellan, Please take good care of my cloak. It is a little-known fact that I actually possessed two of these in my wardrobe. I'll have another one made up later, but this is my spare. It gets cold on the mountains, and I'd feel better knowing you were kept warm, considering the last time I found you, completely frozen through after Haven. I hope you don't mind, but this isn't the one from the tavern last night. That one I've kept for myself to remember you by. Not because of_ ," and here, something was blotted out with ink. " _Never mind_ ," it continued, " _just… be safe. – C_. _R._ "

 _Last night? When did they put this together for her?_ Cole probed warily at the Inquisitor to see if she understood the note better than he did, but he only sensed a wry amusement, and no hint of lust or desire behind it. So nothing had happened between them, then; that was a relief. Still, images of naked flesh and the muted sounds of whispers in the dark threw him. Could both these things be true at the same time? He supposed they had to be, if what he saw was the truth of it, and he had rarely, if ever, been mistaken. They must have had a strange relationship, indeed…

The others were fairly small, having been folded inside the coat. The biggest among them was a satchel of gold that he estimated to contain approximately a hundred pieces at least, likely from Josephine, considering the velvet blue bag and the gold tie woven through the top to secure it tightly shut; a black feather with a silverite clip through the stem that he assumed was previously owned by one of Nightingale's raven messengers; and the last, a delicate gold chain which secured a matching pendant, bearing the Holy Symbol of Andraste. The small note attached with string to the clasp was too difficult for Cole to make out, but it being the last of the items, he assumed that this was from Seeker Cassandra. The Inquisitor sniffed through emotional tears and undid the clasp, pulling it round her thin neck and securing it in one smooth motion. She stared longingly at the pendant in her hands, and he understood that there was great meaning behind the gift.

Picking up her tea cup, he saw her rifling through the empty rucksack. When she found nothing else, she paused in confusion. What did she expect to find, he wondered? Gently, she set aside the cup and stood, looking at the bounty around her, counting each item as she came to it. Then she shook her head, picking up the sack and peering inside. She came away empty-handed, of course, but Cole wondered briefly what she was searching for.

Then it dawned on him. _She's looking for something from me_.

Cole frowned and put his head down, the brim of his hat concealing her from sight. He knew the Inquisitor wasn't expecting anything like this; she'd thought the tavern the night before had been her one and only perfect send-off… But Cole hadn't been there for that, either. A flood of emotion tumbled from her: _sadness, regret, confusion… worry_. She worried that she'd done something to hurt him? No, but that was part of it… She worried that something had happened to him, and she wasn't there to help him. Realising this, he raised his head –

And found the Inquisitor staring directly at him.

Cole froze in place, an icy chill paralysing him from within as he stared back at her. Her gaze was locked with his for a long moment, and he waited for her to speak to him first. There was a chance…

Yes, he was right after all… Her gaze shifted to the right as she scanned the outcrop above her. She hadn't actually spotted him; she'd felt a presence, but couldn't place what it was or where it came from. Cole remained unseen, his eyes full of pain, wanting her to find him, but too afraid to show himself. As she found nothing, she cast her eyes back down to her little campsite and situated herself among her belongings. She slipped on the Commander's scarlet drapery and huddled for warmth as close to the fire as she could sit without being scalded.

Drinking her rapidly cooling tea, she began to eat a portion of her rations and pack the rest of the food. Once everything was tucked neatly away and she'd finished her meagre meal, she sighed and stood, waving her hand so a sheet of blue ice formed and doused the flames. As it lay smoking, the embers choking on their dying breath, she adjusted the rucksack and tied it securely to her waist as she set out again down the mountain, her boots sinking shin-deep in the packed snow.

Cole watched silently until she was a spec on the horizon, then stood and followed after her, content to be on the move once more.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

Lavellan finally traversed down the north eastern side of the Frostback Mountains, eventually finding her way to the topside square outside the grand stone doors of Orzammar, gateway to the Dwarven Kingdom. Stopping briefly for supplies, she bartered with the surface traders what ore she had been able to carry for more rations, these having dwindled more than expected due to what she'd assumed to be small animals sampling them while she slept. The merchants exchanged puzzled glances with each other, which she presumed either had to do with the fact that she was a mage, or the rarity of seeing one of her kind – or anyone, for that matter – traveling alone. They eyed her staff warily as she browsed their wares; dwarves were not capable of magic themselves, and therefore regarded it with a cool suspicion. At least they were willing to do business with her, though; she imagined it would be a more difficult matter among the humans once she reached the towns and villages. With a single gold piece, she purchased a spare leather satchel as well to tie to her belt so she could more easily store what other small valuables she found along her road.

Her business concluded, she made her way past the impressive, thick stone pillars to gaze down Gherlen's Pass, a winding stretch of cobbled road as far as the eye could see. The view was simultaneously breathtaking and disheartening. After three days of trekking downhill through the bracing winds and being submerged to her knees in the ever-present snow, to be on solid ground again seemed almost heavenly, even if it was only a momentary respite. The process of descending had taken longer than expected, but she'd dealt with worse before, and under more dire circumstances than this. At least she had more than enough to eat until she could hopefully run into more dwarves who would presumably have more to offer than just news of what lay ahead of her.

Her plan, what there was of one, was to find her way back to the Free Marches where her clan had once held a settlement. She didn't know what remained of their nomadic village. Most was probably no more than smoking remains at this point, but she felt she ought to at least make an effort to see it and give those she could a proper burial, perhaps say some words over a funeral pyre, if not. It would help to give her some semblance of closure on her life prior to the events at the Conclave, and then she might be free of that burden to make a life for herself elsewhere. Her only hope was that she may yet be able to recover something of her sister: her necklace, her ironbark shield, maybe even her body, though she didn't know how she would go about identifying remains at this point. Still, she had to try.

She made her way down Gherlen's Pass until it joined the Imperial Highway on the western banks of Lake Calenhad, stopping at the side of the dirt road and camping for the night, stringing the rope between two low-hanging branches and draping the wool blanket over it to make a rudimentary tent. It was warmer than previous nights, but she had a fretful sleep, and awoke abruptly at two separate points to pain in her left arm she attributed to sleeping on the hard ground. Each time it felt as though she had been jerked awake, and she finally gave up sleeping, restless as she drank her morning tea. The water of Lake Calenhad had a peculiar mineral taste to it, spoiling even the best of Dorian's stock. Perhaps it was an acquired taste not noticed by locals, but she resolved to forgo drinking it and gather rain water at some point instead, though the sky was dazzlingly blue and cloudless. She needn't have worried, though.

Once she'd passed the docks on the northern side of the lake that led to the Circle Tower, which looked run-down and disused, the rain began with intensity and didn't let up for two full days. The North Road along the coast of the Waking Sea was wet and dreary, and she only needed to pause for a few minutes with her kettle perched upon a small boulder before the container was overflowing with fresh rainwater. Even though she was soaked through, it still was a relief to drink the cool stuff greedily, having dehydrated a bit throughout the day. The only good thing she had to say about the place was that it was green and alive with edible plants and berries; it was a welcome change of scenery to the thick white blanket that had covered every inch of ground on the Frostback Mountains. Other than that, it was nothing but rain, grass, rocks, giant spiders, and more rain. She wished she'd thought to bring a hat, and hoped Sera's biscuits hadn't gone soggy in her rucksack, which was strapped protectively to her front so she could wrap her arms and Cullen's drenched cloak around it.

Up the road, she spotted a lone cart being pulled by a bronto and waved to the lone, burly dwarf perched miserably on the seat. "Greetings," she called out to him, signalling him to stop. "Anything to trade?"

He nodded his acknowledgement, bringing the great beast to a halt, and she hurried up the short distance between them on the stony road to meet him. "Ho there," the dwarven man boomed with the wave of a hand. "Fine weather for a walk along the beach," he grinned through his ruby-red braided beard. "Anything specific you had in mind, my lady?"

"Not much," she shouted to be heard over the loud pattering, covering her head with a hand. "I don't suppose you have any gear that could protect me from this storm, though? A hat, maybe?"

He laughed at that, then paused for a moment, his brow furrowing. "Not sure I do, come to think of it. Lemme have a nose around, though. I might have something to suit you." He rose from his wooden bench, his stocky frame gaining no height upon standing up, and turned to rifle through the sacks under the tarp. "Don't you have some ugly old mage shroud you should be wearing, or did you lose it in your escape? I'd ditch it, too, if I was forced to wear something so ridiculous."

"Oh," she forced a smile politely, "I don't actually come from the Circle Tower. I see how you might think that, what with the direction I came from, but I'm Dalish."

"Dalish?" He leaned out of the cart to peer at her face for an uncomfortably long time before commenting, "I've heard about you folk. All good things... Mostly. Don't see any markings on you, but I'm still getting used to that sun up there. Maybe I've gone partially blind! Sorry, I just assumed you were an elf from Kinloch Tower."

Lavellan shrugged it off, feeling oddly embarrassed by her bare face. "I actually hail from Skyhold. There was a man there offering free tattoo removals, and I took him up on it, on a whim," she smirked sadly.

"Ha! Never heard of such a thing," the dwarf laughed at that, pointing a finger at the casteless mark upon his cheekbone. "You think he could do somethin' about this? Gets me a bunch of crap from other cloudgazers who have no business judging me out here on the surface for it."

"If you can find him," she hesitated, a practised smile masking the cold lump in her stomach. "He's no longer there… moved on a while back. Send him my way if you see him; I've got a bone to pick with him."

"Ah, didn't finish the job, did he?" He said wryly, turning back to the large sacks and continuing his search.

She grimaced, looking down the road ahead of her for a moment before answering with a nod. "Oh, he finished it, all right."

With a triumphant hoot, he came up with an old leather hat, its brim just wide enough to cover her narrow shoulders. He gave it a slap against his cart for good measure, a tiny dust cloud quickly dissipating in the rain. It wasn't much to look at, but it would certainly do the trick. "I think the mage hats might actually look better than this," he said derisively, giving it a sniff. "Doesn't stink, though, thank the ancestors. Wanna try it on?"

"Well, beggars can't be choosers," she shrugged, reaching up to grab it. She placed it on her head; he was right, it didn't have a smell other than the faint whiff of old leather hide and dust. So long as he hadn't scavenged it off a corpse, she was satisfied, and it did a decent job of warming her frozen head almost immediately. She turned and looked up at him, a questioning look in her eyes.

"No need to worry," he grinned, "I bet you could make even a nugskin look good!" When she dug through to find her silvers, he waved her off. "Ah, I wasn't gonna get anything for it, anyway. Keep it."

"I'll pay you for information, then," she said, handing him three silvers. "What's the news to the east?"

He shook his head, accepting the coins and slipping them into his satchel. "The settlements 'round these parts are all uppity again," he sighed ruefully. "I swear, these sodding humans itch for a fight more often than warriors in the Provings back in Orzammar. I guess they're none too pleased about the new mage at the head of their Chantry – some religious outrage, never ends well with that kind of nonsense. If I were you," he said, nodding toward her staff, "I'd watch your back out there. It's a shame a woman is travelling alone through these parts, especially one who wields magic. Oh, say," he muttered, leaning down and tapping the side of his nose to indicate this was information she was to keep to herself, "I've got some lyrium in the back. Are you needin' a few vials?"

Paling, Lavellan brought her velvet bag back out and the dwarf looked around for any passing travellers coming up the road. Finding it vacant, he reached back into a sack he hadn't touched before and brought forth three sparkling vials, glowing a brilliant blue at the warmth of his hand. They traded quickly, Lavellan stuffing the vials into the satchel at her belt; she may need them close at hand if it came to defending herself against attack. This little quest of hers was turning out to be less enjoyable than she'd hoped.

"Also," he added, his voice raised against the downpour as though nothing had transpired, "There's a large convoy of caravans not too far behind me, oh, about fifteen of 'em, I'd say. They were setting up camp near West Hill. Lots of armour and weapons on those men, so whatever they're guarding is important. Try not to get too close; they got pretty hostile with me and had my cart searched. I'm just lucky they got bored and sent me on my way before they, uh," he jerked his head toward the bagful of vials, looking relieved as he grinned at her. "It was a close one, but I got outta there. Expect the same treatment if you're headed that direction."

"You've been extremely helpful, ser dwarf," she bowed her head in thanks. " _Ma serannas_."

"Anytime," he said, repeating the gesture in farewell. "Best of the vein, friend." With that, he snapped the reins and the bronto let out a deep groan, pulling the cart easily as it carried on down the road she had just come from.

Turning away, Lavellan heaved a sigh and adjusted the "new" hat on her dripping head, pushing wet hair from her eyes and continuing forward. To pass the time, she hummed a tune to herself, one that she'd learned during her years as First to her Clan. She thought it unusual that it should come to mind after all this time, but it was strangely fitting. _Suledin_ was a song about enduring and emerging from sorrow, normally tied to the loss of the ancient _Elvhen_ lands, but it wasn't unheard of to adapt it to fit other, more personal situations. As she sang softly to herself in her first language, gently kicking rocks along the path as she went, she translated the words in her mind:

_Time was once a blessing_  
_but long journeys are made longer_  
_when alone within._  
_Take spirit from the long ago_  
_but do not dwell in lands no longer yours._  
_Be certain in need,_  
_and the path will emerge_  
_to a home tomorrow_  
_and time will again_  
_be the joy it once was._

"… _enasal ir sa lethalin_ ," she finished quietly, coming to a bend in the road. Peering ahead, the dwarven merchant had been correct; in the distance on the right-hand shoulder of the road parked a long procession of caravans among the trees. It didn't look to be any normal convoy. This one had a bit more opulence to it, though it was obviously trying to disguise this fact so as not to attract roaming bandits – though if it did, they would be hard pressed to rob the large group, as heavily armoured and armed as the accompanying muscle was. Perhaps it was a passing noble family, though they looked to be moving everything they owned with them. Had they lost their land to some misfortune? Or worse, had Lavellan herself divvied up the land on behalf of the Inquisition for some reason? She hoped not. That would make getting past the procession unrecognised rather difficult…

She looked to her right, judging the tangle of brush and trees. The average person might have trouble with the overgrowth, but Lavellan pursed her lips and set her jaw; she was Dalish, after all, and a child of nature. Surely if anyone could do it, she could. Taking the cloak off, she wrung it out under the shelter of a protruding tree branch, gave it a good, hard shake and rolled it up carefully, tucking it under her arm protectively so as not to snag it on passing thorn bushes. Pushing up her sleeves, she walked to her right and between the trees that lined the road. If she kept in a straight line, she would meet the road again, the convoy far enough behind her that she wouldn't be seen emerging by anyone.

A few minutes had gone by, and Lavellan had only progressed possibly twenty feet forward. Impatient, she was tempted to use her staff to burn a passage through, but it would only prove futile; just about everything was drenched through and would never catch in this weather. She shook her head, telling herself that if it was dry all she would have done was kill everything for miles with a wildfire. Maybe she wasn't such a good Dalish, after all.

This last self-deprecating thought was proving to have more evidence behind it than she cared to admit. Ten feet in front of her, she could just make out the steep incline of a rock face. Well, she was an elf, not a dwarf; she didn't have the stone sense, after all. Her heart sank as she realised it was too vertical to climb; she was going to have to go around. How close that would bring her to the caravan was anyone's guess, but if it was this tangled up that way as well, she wouldn't need to worry about being seen.

Just as she had cleared the side of the face and continued forward, her mind wandered and began to conjure up would-be conversations with voices from the past. All she could think about was Solas' low chuckle, his mocking voice taunting her about her Dalish-ness and how confident she had been that she could navigate this thicket easily. _Just one more thing the Dalish got wrong_ , she could hear him saying. _Or_ this _Dalish, anyway_.

"And just how would _you_ know what we got wrong?" She muttered to herself in reply, breaking through the worst of the brush and walking on the grass among the trees again. She pushed on, glaring to herself, the voice still mocking her efforts. Why was it that when she was most critical of herself, she heard the one she loved the most tearing her down? Maybe it was because he'd already cut her apart so completely, or perhaps it was because it made it easier for her heart to put thoughts of him aside if she had these pretend arguments with him.

She had been free of the brush for some time, but she realised with a start that she could hear the brushing of another against the plant life a short way behind her. Surprised, she turned about quickly, but found that the noises had stopped just as suddenly as she'd heard them. Lavellan waited for a long minute, straining her pointed ears to listen for anything. It was difficult to tell what was natural and what wasn't, as the rain overhead dripped in large droplets from the leaves above her and the thunder in the distance rolled across the sea. There was a chance she had imagined someone following her just as she had fabricated Solas' cutting words in her head. Shrugging, she turned about again and took a step forward, watching the tips of her boots as she sighed in relief. The last thing she wanted was to be discovered.

" _Halt, mage!_ "

Her heart jumped into her throat, and she put a hand to her chest as if to force it back down. Looking up with widened eyes, she found she had been approached by three human guards as she traipsed through the woods, the ranking officer of the three standing before the other two. They wore their steel chainmail under their deep purple tabards, and Lavellan absently wondered if it was colder and heavier for them in this weather. Her mind was so shocked by their sudden appearance that it refused to acknowledge just how precarious her situation was, at present.

"Hey, there," she stammered, trying to get her breath under control, "you gave me a fright!"

The older man with the thick dark beard glared openly. He did not appreciate coming this far into the woods, and he looked as though he'd had just about enough of the rain. None of them wore helmets, possibly because Lavellan had surprised them off-duty. "She's an apostate," he said to the two younger men behind him. "Keep your hands near your hilts."

She held her hands up in front of her slowly in a gesture of surrender, but they flinched regardless. Closing her eyes, she felt her blood hammering through her veins. _Of course a mage holding her hands up before herself would come off as a threat, you idiot._ "I mean you no harm," her voice quivered over the rain. "I only want to pass by."

"Then why didn't you pass on the road? What's all this 'sneaking around' business? I'll be damned if you're here to assassinate – "

"No! No, not at all! I don't even know who – "

"A-are you from the Circle Tower?" The younger, darker man on the right interjected warily before addressing the others with him. "Has she escaped the templars, Captain?" He turned to the man next to him with the crooked nose. "We should take her back," he whispered louder than he'd intended.

Her eyes widened. This was going too far, too fast. "I don't hail from any Circle. I'm Dalish, Sers."

"You are most certainly _not_ Dalish," the Captain scoffed angrily. "You take me for a fool? Where are the markings that honour your false gods?"

Was he purposely trying to irk her by slipping the word "false" in there like that? "I had them removed," she snapped curtly.

"Not possible," he refused to believe her explanation. "It's more plausible that you never had them to begin with, _mage_ ," he spat the word as though it was a bitter poison in his mouth. "And if you claim not to be part of the Circle I'll deliver you there myself, and let the templars decide what to do with you."

Panic began to ebb within her. If she was given to the templars, there wasn't much chance of being able to talk her way back out of the Circle Tower again. She would be thrown in a dungeon until someone could decide what to do about her, or they might listen to her story, but whether they would believe her wild tale was entirely up for debate. "Wait," she pleaded with them, opening the bag still strapped to her chest, "I can prove I am who I say I am." She began to dig through the rucksack, but she heard the sound of steel singing to life as swords were pulled from their scabbards, and her blood ran cold as she froze in place. If she had to fight, she would attract the attention of every one of those guards, and she wouldn't last ten seconds against them all at once.

"Do not resist," the captain hissed, his voice with a sharpness equal to that of the blade he held tightly in his grasp. "If you so much as move, mage, I will strike you down where you stand! Come quietly, and we will take you back to the Circle."

To her absolute astonishment, the man with the crooked nose's neck split open from left to right like the seam being torn on a garment, but he didn't so much as even react to it, nor even blink as the crimson blood spilled over the front of his tabard and spread through the purple fabric. He continued to hold his sword and glare, waiting for Lavellan to give him a reason to run her through. After a moment, though, his sword clinked to the ground and the veins appeared to bulge below the man's skin. His eyes widening in shock, he opened his mouth to get his captain's attention, but blood poured out in place of his words, running down his smooth chin. He hit his knees with a sickening gurgle, and fell back, unmoving as he lay on the grass, staining the rocks beneath him a dark red.

Just as unbelievable as this was the fact that neither of the other two had even noticed their fellow guardsman's sudden death. Looking in their eyes, they appeared to be slightly glazed over, as though they were staring into empty space, lost in a trance. The darker guard was now meeting the same fate as the fellow next to him, the clammy skin of his neck parting neatly as if on its own, arterial spray spewing forth in a dazzling display of horror. The spattering hit the captain, and he blinked in confusion, coming out of his daze enough to bring a hand to his cheek and turn to find his men bleeding out behind him.

"What the…" He turned back to Lavellan. "Holy Maker, it's _blood magic_ ," he seethed with rage, raising his sword high. "You will not live to – " He froze in place, straightening rigidly, his head tilted back at an awkward angle, sword clanging loudly to the pebbled ground at his feet.

Over his shoulder materialised a young man in leathers, his unkempt blond hair plastered to his forehead and a large-brimmed hat hanging on his back by a leather thong, knotted at the base of his neck. " _No_ ," he rasped with a deadly certainty, "you will _not_ hurt her!"

" _Cole_ ," Lavellan mouthed, the wind knocked out of her and her vision swimming as she shook her head in disbelief. "Cole," she repeated louder, swallowing hard, "what are you _doing_ all the way out here?" She eyed the wicked dagger at the guard's throat with morbid fascination, the black blade glistening from its previous kills and dripping the blood of his own men down his neck sinisterly. The remaining guard made a strangled noise, and Lavellan hesitated in her observation. If she let Cole kill the last man, they might yet be able to slip away before the bodies were discovered. But could she really stand by while he killed another? "Cole – "

"Let… the captain… go," a new voice demanded icily.

Cole swung his new hostage around to face the newcomer, using him as a shield. It took Lavellan a few seconds to realise he was trying to get her to move behind him, and she leaped at the chance, clinging desperately to his tattered, soaked tunic. Peeking out from behind him, she spotted a large group of Elven archers, arrows at the ready, staring them down calmly enough to send chills down her spine. Annoyed at feeling helpless, she reached down into herself and summoned enough mana to cast a ward of protection around the three of them.

"If I have to ask you one more time, we will loose our arrows," threatened one of the archers, presumably the leader of the group, an elven man with long, glossy silver hair.

"Listen," Lavellan negotiated hurriedly, "this has all gone wrong. I'm… _We're_ innocent travellers. This isn't what it looks like!"

" _Shoot them_ ," the captain wheezed to the archers. "Does this look _innocent_ to you?!"

For a moment it seemed like they might do as the captain had ordered, but the lead archer held up a hand, turning to Lavellan again and waiting for more from her.

"Cole," she started slowly, placing her hands on his forearms, "we need to let the captain go free… Give him to his friends, now…"

"Elves are not his friends," Cole replied innocently, reading the man as easily as if he'd opened a children's book. "The moment I let him go, he's… going to pick up his sword and shove it through my belly, then yours… He can't wait to do it. His blood courses with sick excitement at the thought of your life running down his blade and over his hands. He wants to remember it later, when he's alone in the dark." The bearded man made a strangled, surprised noise, not knowing how Cole could have been privy to such things.

Turning his head to look at her, Cole added, "He thinks you're a blood mage, and I, a demon you summoned to protect yourself… He doesn't care if he's wrong. He wants us as dead as those guards over there…" He suddenly looked guilty, realising that he'd taken the lives of the men and all it had gotten them was more trouble.

Lavellan locked eyes with the lead archer, the man staring back at her in stark curiosity. "This… captain… plans to kill us while in custody. If we give him back to you, will you keep him away while you deal with us?"

The elf flashed his large blue eyes to the archer closest to the fallen sword and nodded at the steel weapon. In a flash, the lithe, brown-haired elf, his hair tied back with a leather thong, glided forward and scooped up the sword in one fluid motion. When the leader looked back at Lavellan, he switched languages tentatively. " _Ar isala na mi, ar hamin bor'assan_ ," he said in a monotone. He was testing her to see if she understood. If she did, he would know her to be Dalish, and not from the Tower; elves in the Circle rarely bothered to remember their native tongue, once inside.

" _Ma nuvenin_ ," she nodded to him, understanding the full weight of what was expected of her. Slowly, she placed her staff on the ground and came around to stand in front of the guard, her hand extending toward the blade. Cole was nervous and confused; he didn't like the idea of being disarmed, but Lavellan had no choice in the matter. Either she did this, or they were both dead. She placed her hand over Cole's in reassurance, the captain straining like an animal caught in a trap. When she held his hand and looked into his eyes long enough, he relaxed his grip on the weapon, trusting her despite his fear, and she took it by the blade.

Turning on her heel to face the elf, his arms now crossed over his chest, she walked over to him, the other bows trained on her as she moved. She held out the dagger hilt-first, and he took it gently to avoid cutting her. His eyes didn't leave her as something resembling understanding passed between them. He nodded barely, then said to his men, " _Hamin na bor'assan_." Immediately, they lowered their bows and placed their arrows back in their quivers.

She sighed heavily and closed her eyes, bowing her head in gratitude. " _Ma serannas_ ," she thanked him honestly. Turning back to Cole, Lavellan signalled for him to release the guard captain, and Cole did so reluctantly, the man stumbling away.

Before anything more could happen, she grabbed her friend in a tight embrace, and he stood in surprise for a moment before lowering his arms around her. "I can get us out of this," she promised, though she wasn't sure she actually could.

"No," he answered, seeing through her false optimism plainly enough, "you can't."

She buried her head in his chest, eyes stinging, not caring whether or not it was true. What mattered was that he was here with her. "That won't stop me from trying, Cole," she whispered with determination as the archers took her wrists from behind his back and placed them behind her own. Someone tied them together securely and marched her toward the convoy as the sun set behind the distant mountains to the west, Cole following bound shortly thereafter.


	9. Chapter 9

Lavellan didn't know whether to be appalled or impressed by the fact that her captors had brought along cages in one of the many caravans lining the road outside of West Hill. She had been manacled and placed inside half an hour ago, chained to the cold floor so closely that she slouched forward when she stood up, Cole's own cage sitting little more than three feet away from her. He had gone in without a word, his shoulders slumping as the lock mechanism activated when the door was slammed shut after him. She'd wanted to reach a hand out toward him to comfort him, but the iron around her wrists prevented the gesture of reassurance, a precaution against any magic she may have thought to use to escape. Cole had no such bonds, but he sat against the bars, immobile for the entire duration thus far. It was unsettling, to say the least.

They were left alone while the guards presumably drew up papers or spread the gossip amongst themselves. No one came to offer representation or ask questions, and the only other time she saw men again was when they'd removed the bodies of the two unfortunate guards from the woods. Cole's expression had been grim, but he didn't look away, knowing that he was being watched in one form or another for his reaction. She felt sorry for him, then; he had tried to save her from exactly this situation, but he had a tendency to see red when it came to protecting his friends. Like a child in some ways, he often acted on impulse, from the pure compulsion to help. Though he was innocent in his intentions, he was guilty of some unfortunate actions.

"Your thoughts are loud," Cole interrupted her thought process glumly, his face hidden from view under his wide brim.

The rain had lightened to a mere sprinkle, offering some relief, but the winds chilled their drenched garments thoroughly, causing their muscles to seize and shiver, offering only the smallest semblance of heat. Lavellan lifted her gaze, her eyes full of sympathy. "Am I disturbing you, Cole?" She asked him quietly.

He shook his head slowly, his hands clasped together, elbows resting on his bent knees. "I'm already disturbed. It doesn't matter." He didn't move in any way other than to shiver in the breeze; their situation had taken the fight out of him, and he sat like a little boy sent to a corner to think about what he had done.

Shifting herself so she could face him while leaning against the iron bars, Lavellan watched him for a short while. She knew he could feel her eyes on him, and she waited until he was ready to open up to her. Many minutes had passed in silence and he began to fidget under her stare, becoming visibly nervous. "I keep forgetting that you can see me now," he admitted shyly.

That made her smile a little, but also gave her the opening she needed. "How did you get here…? Can you just appear wherever you want instantly?"

Cole shook his head again. "I may be like a spirit, but I'm still limited by a human body. I have some of my old abilities, not all…" He shot a glance at her, but put his head back down anxiously, going quiet again.

Lavellan tilted her head to the side slightly. "Are you avoiding telling me how you came to be out here?"

His head shot up, shaking back and forth quickly. "Oh no, Inquisitor…"

"Cole… I'm not the Inquisitor anymore," she told him gently, thinking the news might come as a shock to him.

"I know. You gave up that life," he admitted, surprising her instead.

"I didn't – " She stopped, thinking about his words more carefully. She supposed she had given up in a way, but when phrased like that, it sounded like defeat rather than a conscious decision, or what she had considered self-preservation. For the first time since the war room, she began to doubt her abrupt resignation.

"I've never called you… _Lavellan_ , before," he confessed, turning his body to face her. "It might take time to get used to it. It feels strange on my tongue, like a foreign spice I've never tasted, but… It is your name. You were Lavellan before you were Inquisitor, but I didn't know you then. It's like meeting a stranger for the first time, but then realising she's an old friend from long ago."

Her brow furrowed as she looked at him. Though she was glad he was willing to talk again, this wasn't what she had asked. "Now I _know_ you're avoiding my question. How long have you been following me?"

His eyes focused on his hands as he hesitated. He let out a shuddering breath, possibly more worried about Lavellan's response to his answer than their current predicament. "Since the night in the tavern," he muttered sheepishly.

Startled, she counted the days in her head. "But… Cole, that was – "

"Five days ago," he confirmed, not wanting to see her reaction; it would have been too much for him to feel it, as it was. He almost seemed ashamed, or possibly saddened, as if he was going to get into trouble for having done so.

She sat reeling, utterly taken aback. Every so often on her journey she had felt like she was being watched, but the feeling never lasted for long. She'd assumed it was because she'd never been quite so alone before and was accustomed to having a team with her at all times. It had never occurred to her that someone had _actually_ been following her for the entire duration.

"I'm sorry I didn't get you a present," he blurted out, hiding his blush beneath the brim of his hat. "I didn't know about that."

Her heart opened up, and a well of emotion spilled out. "Oh, Cole," she said, moving as close as she could to him, "you gave me the best present of all. I got you."

He lightened at that, smiling despite the pain he felt for their captivity. " _Thank you_ ," he breathed, a small laugh of relief struggling against the lump in his throat.

A companionable silence passed between them as Lavellan recalled all she had experienced on her travels thus far, attempting to look for small clues she'd overlooked that indicated his presence. "Wait," she said after a moment, a thought striking her, "the rations… the biscuits… Cole, were you the one that was eating the food?"

He was overcome with embarrassment for a brief moment, shifting his feet in to bring his arms closer to his face. "Yes," he finally answered her, "I was hungry and… there was nothing to eat on the mountain."

Smirking, Lavellan let out the breath of a laugh. "Oh," she commented dryly, "and here I thought it was nugs."

"I know. It wasn't nugs. It was me."

"But Cole," she said, remembering back, "after the first night, I laid down glyphs around me to stop the animals from eating the rations. How did you…"

He fidgeted again, but glanced up at her for a second before casting his eyes back down to the iron floor of his cage. "I got too close. I was w-watching you, but I was so cold, and I came to the fire to warm myself. Then you started laying the mines, and I was trapped inside… After you fell asleep, I got hungry… I hope you're not mad."

Lavellan closed her eyes and fought the grin that threatened to overtake her, but it was too much. The irony of it all swept her up into a fit of hysterics. She sat shaking with uncontrollable laughter for a time, all the while Cole staring at her in concern. It was too much to contain, and before long, tears of hilarity were streaming from her eyes as she wiped them away with a sleeve. He'd hoped she wasn't mad, but it turned out that she was – just not in the way he'd feared. Her voice echoed through the encampment, and before long, she had attracted the attention of the white-haired elven archer from earlier.

"I am glad you are finding the humour in your situation, _lethallan_ ," he said in disapproval, striding up to the door and staring down at her as she lay doubled up against the side of the cage, hugging her knees and giggling to herself. "However, the guards do not seem to find it as funny as you do, and are not best pleased to hear your insane cackling. I suggest you control yourself before they decide to wipe that smile off your face for good."

Lavellan gathered her wits about her once more and cleared her throat, standing hunched before the door and clenching her fists, knuckles going white. "Let them _try_ ," she smirked a bit more cockily than she'd intended.

"I hear only the futile chirps of a clipped sparrow," he said derisively, crossing his arms before him and giving her the telltale glare an old one usually delivers to young people who think they know everything. "The more contentious you are, the harder you make things for yourself and your friend. You would be wise not to rile me, for I seem to be your only ally here, _lethallan_. Do not make me regret sticking my neck out for you."

Levallan looked the man over, studying his _vallaslin_ and leathers closely, finding the swirls and winding, embossed patterns familiar to her. "Who are you, and why do the Dalish ally themselves with these _shemlen_? What is your commonality, I wonder?"

He shifted his weight and sighed heavily, resigning himself to explain the presence of the elves with the convoy. "My name is Ser Fendorf. I command a recent order, at least in this capacity, but we span back to the days of the rebellion against the Orlesian Occupation. I was one of its founding members. We call ourselves the Night Elves, archers and rogues sworn to protect the Sovereign. I fought alongside General Loghain to aid Prince Maric against the Orlesian Forces and helped to drive them out of Ferelden, and have served ever since. We take in any elf of skill and, as our name implies, protect the King when he travels at night due to our superior vision, of which you are no doubt well aware," he explained, his voice full of pride and commanding a great deal of respect.

"The -the King!" Cole stammered, rising to his feet and pressing his back against the bars like a cornered rat. He shifted uneasily, realising now the full implication of his crime. "Then… that means…"

"Yes," Fendorf replied, a hint of regret darkening his features as he looked over the pitiful young man. "You are accused of murdering two of the Royal Guard. It is no small offence. It will be difficult indeed to regain your freedom."

"Freedom?" Lavellan's eyebrows shot up in astonishment. "Was there any chance of that ever happening? I'd not thought to expect anyone to advocate for our release, all things considered."

Fendorf began to pace the length of the two cages, hands clasped behind his back, his silver hair glittering with dew drops. "Our Order may be unknown to you, Inquisitor," he started, catching Lavellan by surprise at use of her former title, "but we elves recognise you plainly enough. We are well aware of the work you have done, of your mighty deeds on behalf of the Inquisition _and_ the _Elvhen_. Despite what you have done here today, we witnessed the confrontation and know what it was you faced with our dear Captain's threat. Had your man not acted, you would be halfway to Kinloch Tower now, and considering your alliance with the mage rebels, they in all likelihood would not have looked kindly upon you."

He stopped before Cole's door, pondering the young man as he pursed his lips, rocking back and forth on his heels. "I readily admit, your skills are incredibly noteworthy, _shem_ ; enough for me to seriously consider allowing a human to join the Night Elves. Were you receptive, I would request that the King allow you to serve out your sentence as his servant under my command, if I thought he would agree to such an arrangement."

"I would not do it," Cole spoke plainly, shaking his head and looking at Lavellan. "My place is with the Inquisitor, as her protector… She's my friend. " The last part warmed Lavellan's heart to hear, and she smiled softly.

Fendorf sighed heavily, waving a hand in frustrated dismissal. "There is little point in speculating on hypothetical paths. I highly doubt that he would approve, in any case. The matter still stands on how we are to secure your release."

"You _bitch_!"

They all turned as one, startled by the Captain's sudden appearance as he stormed over to Lavellan's cage, grabbing the bars and shaking them violently. The clash of iron against steel rang out, assaulting her ears, and Cole fell back in retreat, landing hard on his backside and scrambling as far from the crazed man as he could manage. His eyes were full of fury as he glared at her, and if he could have set her on fire with a look, he would have already done so. In his hand pressing against the iron bar was Vivienne's scroll with her official Chantry seal, and Lavellan had to clench her fists to stop herself from reaching out and grabbing the parchment before he damaged it further.

"Do not get yourself worked up," Fendorf sighed, rolling his eyes. Clearly, these two weren't fond of each other. "And I would not address the Inquisitor as such, if I were you."

"So you already know who she is, then." The captain wheeled on him suddenly, his body in an intimidating stance as he towered over the old elf, sticking his face mere centimetres from Fendorf's. "I should have guessed! I suppose you _knife ears_ all know each other!"

The archer glared back, not rising to the insult, but making it clear he wasn't about to back down. "I recognise her from when His Majesty came to liberate Redcliffe Castle from the Venatori. Perhaps you were too inebriated to remember the occasion."

"Don't take that tone with _me_! I'm in better standing with His Majesty than you, Fendorf, and I say her status – and this _scroll_ ," he spat, holding the parchment up and crushing it in his gauntlet, "change absolutely nothing!"

"As far as I am concerned, they change quite a bit, Captain Yates. Or will you put your men in a position where they are forced to openly defy the will of the Chantry?"

Captain Yates' eyes narrowed as he turned to Lavellan and pointed at her furiously. "This _elf_ is the one whose influence put that – that – _mage_ on the Sunburst Throne to begin with! I utterly _refuse_ to acknowledge her as Divine," he shouted, throwing the scroll to the grass. Fendorf bent quickly and scooped it up, brushing rainwater from it before putting it carefully into his quiver. Ignoring this, the Captain thundered, "Besides, she hasn't had a coronation, yet, and therefore her little 'parchment' is irrelevant! We should tear it up right here!"

"That is _not_ your decision, _Captain_!" Fendorf was beginning to lose his temper as guards and elven archers alike gathered to watch, keeping a fair distance from their commanding officers. The audience seemed to spur him on, and he drove home his point. "That matter is up to the King. His Majesty is the only one who can decide what to do with the Divine's decree. Perhaps in the future, you ought to gather more information on passersby _before_ you threaten to haul them away and throw them in dungeons. Had you done so, your men might still be alive. It is regrettable that it has come this far, but you cannot go about seeking vengeance and call it justice; the two are not the same."

"You're _damn_ right I want vengeance! Roberts and Withers were murdered by that foul demon, and this _blood mage_ would have ordered it to kill me, too - had you not... shown up when you did." The last part he added begrudgingly, reluctant to admit the old elf had probably saved his life.

At that, Lavellan had to interject. "He wasn't going to kill you! Tell them, Cole."

He looked up, suddenly put on the spot as all eyes turned to him, and his brow furrowed in confusion under his greasy blond hair, hat held in his hands over his chest in a protective gesture. "Yes I was."

" _C-Cole_ ," she choked in disbelief. He shot her a wide-eyed stare, like a rabbit spotting a growling mabari, and shook his head, shrugging as if to suggest he didn't understand what she was asking of him. Lavellan was aware that Cole was an honest lad, but could he not even tell one white lie to save his own life? Having heard this exchange, the group of servicemen in the distance actually began to chuckle among themselves, apparently amused by the assassin's naive honesty. Just as abruptly as the snickers had started, though, they immediately ceased, and the men began to scatter back to their duties.

"Captain Yates. Ser Fendorf. A word with you. _Now_."

The two men turned to find King Alistair Theirin standing not twenty yards away, having been part of the now dissipated crowd. He was wearing a common suit of splintmail armour that gave him the intended appearance of one of the lesser guards, eyeing the two arguing men in such a way that they immediately moved to obey their King, hurriedly following after him into the Command Tent. The tone in his voice had left no mystery as to how the King was feeling at present.

Lavellan and Cole remained still, staring at the tent flap long after it had come to a rest. A small chill ran up Lavellan's spine as she turned to Cole and lowered herself down again, her question written plainly on her face.

"He's not happy," Cole uttered grimly.

"Understatement of the Age," she sulked, resigning herself to fate and sitting in such a way that made the weight of the manacles more bearable.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

It was full dark and despite the biting cold, Lavellan dozed in and out of consciousness against the bars of her exposed cage. The camp was lit up with burning torches and oil lamps illuminating the cream-coloured tents. At first she thought this only highlighted their position, but it made sense to keep the place well lit so that any bandits would think twice knowing the camp was awake and alert, and those who weren't put off by this would not go unnoticed for long. Her arm was more sore than usual under this treatment and it cramped occasionally, though there was no way to adjust the position of her arms with the iron still clamped down around her wrists. The flesh there was beginning to chafe and, if left on overnight, would almost certainly be raw by morning. It was better than execution, though. Clouds and silver linings and whatnot, right?

Her dreams were fretful and unnerving, and she awoke with a start every time her recurring nightmare began to replay. Part of her wished that she would allow herself to experience it fully again, to let the Dread Wolf simply take her; surely it had to be a better alternative than the real nightmare of being awake. The other part acknowledged that she hadn't experienced the dream since Solas had intervened many months ago, and wondered why it was coming back now. Most likely it was due to the stress she was under, but she couldn't shake the vain hope that if she let the dream play out, Solas might once again appear and save her from it. It was a silly notion, she told herself, and she resolved to shake herself awake for the time being. If she were to meet Solas again, in the Fade or otherwise, she promised herself that she would not do so in a position of weakness.

She distracted herself with thoughts on the present. Given the King's attitude earlier, she didn't hold out much hope for an aquittal. He obviously hadn't expected to deal with this in his travels, and didn't appreciate these weighty decisions being thrust into his lap. Lavellan tried furiously to remember and memorise all the little details she'd picked up about King Alistair from Morrigan and Leliana, and she recalled all too easily the day he'd shown up at Redcliffe Castle to banish Grand Enchanter Fiona and the rebel mages from Ferelden. It seemed every time she stumbled into an audience with His Majesty, he was in no mood for pleasantries. Lavellan must be looking to him like a bad omen, by now.

Time passed slowly as the night dragged on. No one came to offer blankets to them, and for a time, she feared that they had been purposefully left exposed to the elements in the hope that they would catch their deaths. Unable to bring herself to protest this treatment, she dozed again, this time immediately falling into her familiar nightmare.

It played out the same way it always did, of course. No matter how fast she ran, the great black wolf towered over her with eyes glowing red, breathing down her neck and snarling with hunger. When she came to the rocky outcrop as always happened, instead of her usual tactic of trying to climb out of reach, she turned to the monster, glaring and defiant. It was then that the nightmare altered from its predecessors.

The beast stood on all fours, easily twice her height, his massive paws walking toward her menacingly. She stood before him, her eyes narrowed, refusing to give an inch; she knew it was only a dream, a fragment left over from her childhood, and could do no harm to her. Suddenly, an unexpected feeling crept up on her, causing her to consider the wolf in a new light. This beast, fearsome and hungry for her, was the only thing remaining to her from that time long ago. She had lost everything dear to her: family, kin, home, her _vallaslin_ , position in her clan and in the Inquisition, her love… and the wolf was all that she truly had left of her past.

Her eyes softened as the wolf came close enough for her to feel the moistness of his breath on her bare face. With an audible gulp of final decision, she held out her left hand palm down in front of the black, wet nose, inviting him to inspect her. Everything her Keeper had taught her about not letting the Dread Wolf catch her scent suddenly fell by the wayside as the beast sniffed at her lightly, jaw shutting soundlessly as the nature of the animal shifted from a rabid killer to a curious if not cautious dog, interested in this abrupt change of strategy as much as she was, his huge tail swinging back and forth and creating a great _whoosh!_ sound as it cut the air. She stood in what was now her nightmare no longer, having changed it all simply by refusing to be frightened by old stories passed down and muddled by time.

 _You change… everything_.

The Dread Wolf walked around her body, sniffing heavily, and she stayed perfectly still and calm, willing herself to trust him not to turn on her – a fine thing to do, when all she'd ever been taught was that he was the embodiment of tricks and treachery. Still, this was all in her mind, and she believed she could make the beast do as she desired with no more than a passing thought. Testing her theory, she concentrated on him as he came back around to face her, staring at her with those unsettling red eyes – all six of them – and willed him to howl.

He did not.

Lavellan didn't know what to make of this. Apparently she could not control the dream as easily as Solas had implied she could, if she was conscious of the fact that she could manipulate it. Maybe this was why he had spent so much time in the Fade, teaching himself this very thing; he had said that it required much time and practice, after all.

Or perhaps the Dread Wolf wasn't something – rather, someone – she could control, if what she faced was not actually a dream…

All these thoughts passed in the span of a few heartbeats. She felt her pulse quicken, and apprehension soon began to put pressure against the conviction she'd so easily possessed moments before. Sensing this, the wolf held firmly to that expression of trust, looking past her face and into the depths of her very soul, touching something primal deep within her that bid her to believe in him and cling to the faith she had shown in him before.

Then, once she had let out a trembling breath of acquiescence, the beast moved beside her, sitting down on his haunches and placing his front legs before him as he lowered himself to the barren, dusty earth, resting his monstrous head on his paws and curling around her feet in a surprisingly loyal and protective gesture. Laying down, the beast was almost as tall as Lavellan, and she felt the vibration thrum through the air as his chest rose and fell, the black fur brushing against her as he breathed, so soft and warm. She reached out a hand to touch his mangy coat, and found it unexpectedly comforting and smooth against her palm. As she pet him gently, he let out a heavy, gruff sigh through his whiskered snout, and closed his eyes in contentment.

Then, as if breaking the spell, she was jerked and pulled to a sitting position. Still half-dreaming and frozen through, she came to focus on the face of an elven man staring down at her as he hoisted her to her feet, his hands under her arms as his mouth moved, but she couldn't quite make out the words.

"Solas," she croaked, her mouth as dry as cotton,"I did it… The Dread Wolf is my friend, now…"

He looked at her nonplussed, shaking his head back and forth. "I would not recommend such a friendship, but I am hardly surprised. You _do_ tend to harbour some unsavoury characters in your company from what I have seen, _lethallan_ , but… in your shoes, I might be tempted to make a deal with the devil himself, as well."

Realising that this wasn't Solas' voice, she came to her wits fully as Ser Fendorf thrust the long blade of a key into the lock mechanism on her manacles and turned the bow, the irons clanging to the floor of her cage as relief flooded through her arms. She went weak in the knees as thunder clapped above them, but he caught her handily and threw her arm over his shoulder, stretching her cramped muscles and supporting her as he guided her out of the narrow doorway and over the mud-caked road to the large, lit command tent ahead of them.

"What are we doing?" She asked him suddenly as the rain picked up again, having missed whatever it was he'd said when he awakened her. "Where are you taking me at this hour?"

Fendorf's expression was full of sympathy as he repeated himself for her, filling Lavellan with anxiety at his answer. "The King wishes to speak with you, Inquisitor… Pray to the gods that he is merciful."

"I don't believe in the elven gods," she muttered to herself, though he heard the response easily, his cheek mere inches from her own.

"Then may your Dread Wolf take you, friend," he whispered in parting as he pulled the flap back and pushed her gently inside the tent, out of one storm and into another.

The interior of the Command Tent was unexpectedly humble; the phrase "fit for a king" didn't exactly spring to Lavellan's mind. It doubled as the King's quarters, and contained a standard military-issue cot with dark green woolen blankets and a small cotton pillow, a large trunk for clothing and armour, two chairs tucked under a simple wooden square table, and a smattering of mismatched yet functional rugs underfoot. In fact, the only things that would indicate that this belonged to a person of note were the large size of the tent and the food and fine silverware placed upon the table. The savoury fragrances of roasted meat and fresh bread hung in the air like incense, causing her to salivate and eliminating the dryness of her throat and mouth instantaneously. A covered pot in the middle of the table with a wooden ladle protruding from the lid contained what she presumed to be a portion of the stew that was shared among the entire convoy, and next to it were a clean silver bowl and soup spoon. Either the King had not had the stomach to eat tonight, or he was planning to get around to it after he was through with her.

Speaking of whom, Lavellan glanced around the room again, having apparently missed him upon first inspection. King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden sat at a modest looking desk of dark wood at the head of the cot, her rucksack leaning against it on the floor, having been emptied and restuffed. He was dressed in simple finery trimmed in white fur, frowning at a slightly crumpled document by candlelight. Weights were placed in the corners of the parchment, and by the embossed stamp in the corner, Lavellan recognised it to be Madam de Fer's parting gift to her. It looked like he had tried to restore it for her at least by ironing out the creases, so perhaps she should be grateful Yates wasn't able to rip it up like he'd wanted to, not that she thought it would do her much good if his sentiments were widely shared.

He closed his eyes, his brow wrinkling as he fought against exhaustion, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Standing on ceremony, she waited to be addressed first, feeling awkward and trying to smooth her hair in a futile attempt at appearing like she hadn't only moments ago been in a cage in the wind and rain for hours, though she didn't know why she bothered; it wasn't like he was unaware where she'd just come from, and she couldn't find a reason why she would be attempting to disguise the fact.

Opening his eyes again, he spotted her out of the corner of his vision and rose suddenly as if noticing her for the first time. He came around the desk and made his way across the simple, overlapping rugs to her. As he approached, Lavellan bowed her head and shoulders low in respect, but in no small part to avoid looking at his fatigued and strained face. She held the pose for a bit longer than she'd intended to, her muscles still accustomed to this numbing position and seizing up involuntarily. She felt her face contort as she tried to rise, finding herself humiliatingly unable to do so.

"Inquisitor," he greeted her, clearing his throat and waiting for her to straighten her posture. When she didn't he added with a hint of embarrassment, "No need to be so formal… You can stop bowing now."

She winced in pain as a cramp formed between her shoulder blades. "Actually, Your Majesty," she struggled to reply, "I sort of… can't. I've been chained in the frigid cold for a while, and… I'm pretty sure I'm stuck like this."

"Oh, I see," he said, looking around the tent hurriedly. The King then took dutiful, soldier-like steps to one of the wooden chairs and pulled it out from under the table, coming back over to Lavellan and taking hold of her elbow to lead her painstakingly to the chair until she found her seat. It was a sympathetic act that did much to calm her nerves. "I apologise for the late hour," he breathed, standing next to her for a moment until he realised this was not the best way to have a conversation. He collected the opposite chair and plunked it down across from her, lowering himself with a tired groan.

"Well, I wasn't busy," she tried to smile as she tentatively straightened her back. The warmth of the candles and oil lamps began to thaw her, and she reached with a stiff hand to her shoulder and kneaded hard at the knot there. "Um, Your Majesty," she added belatedly, forgetting herself.

"Oh, don't fuss about with all that regal stuff," he excused her. "It's too late in the evening for me to bother with it, either. Is there something I can do to make you more comfortable before we begin?"

Lavellan eyed him cautiously, not knowing if it would be appropriate to make such a request, but she recognised his honest nature and thought she'd try her luck. "There is one thing that would make me feel much better," she said tentatively.

"Name it," he bid her continue with the wave of a hand.

"Food," she nodded toward the spread on the table.

"Oh, tuck in, then! That's what it's here for… To be eaten." He made a face as though he couldn't believe he'd said that out loud.

"Not just for me," she clarified cautiously, lowering her eyes for a second before meeting his puzzled stare. "For Cole… He hasn't had a decent meal in almost a week… If that's all right with you, Your Ma – er… my King."

He considered this for a moment before blowing air through pursed lips. His brow furrowed and he arched one at her as he appraised her. "Is that wise? I mean, he did kill two of my men."

"Only to protect me," she defended him a bit too readily. Backpedalling, she hastily added, "He _does_ regret it, but… Well, we've _all_ killed men before, haven't we?"

King Alistair closed his eyes again, his hands on his knees as he thought for a moment in silence. That was perhaps a poor thing to say, and she found herself wishing she possessed Josephine's skill for diplomacy.

"I'm sorry, that was insensitive," she apologised, feeling her cheeks flush red. "We're sorry for the trouble we've caused you… Cole is my loyal companion, and I trust him well enough to know you'd be in no danger from him. He's cold and he's hungry, and he's in this mess because of me. I'd feel better if I could care for him right now, but I am here at your pleasure, King Alistair, and it's entirely up to you."

He sighed and rubbed his eyes, standing after a minute and replacing the chair next to the table. "Of course. I'd like to get his side of it, anyway… Wouldn't be the first time I broke bread with an assassin, and it _probably_ won't be the last," he said ruefully, walking out of the tent and having a quiet word with the guard posted outside the door. She hadn't noticed one when she was led in by Ser Fendorf, but she'd had other things on her mind then.

She sat in relative silence as she waited for him to return, her stomach making loud noises of protestation as she eyed the roasted bird, but she decided to wait for Cole, not wanting to get too comfortable until she could be assured that his needs were met first. The King came back in after a long moment, and as he retrieved the chair from behind his small desk she heard the screeching of iron hinges outside. Whatever happened now was of no consequence; whatever they faced, they would face it together.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she said graciously. "It means a great deal to me that you would accept my request."

"You're welcome, Inquisitor, and I'm sure I'll be fine. I have guards for a reason, after all – mainly to protect me from my own foolishness," he said self-deprecatingly. "Besides, you wouldn't clear Denerim Castle of assassins if you wanted me dead, surely."

She nodded, rubbing the back of her neck and stretching her spine, feeling the aches and pains beginning to melt away. "Surely," she agreed. "It's too much effort, anyway, and I'm not up to the challenge right now," she smirked at him, his eyes telling her he appreciated her jest.

"Right," Alistair said as he brought forth a cutting board and a small knife, "if I'm going to have my last meal here, I'm going out in style and indulging myself with a bit of cheese."

"It _won't_ be your last," she reassured him, "but by all means, bring on the cheese."

He laughed at that, surprising her to hear such a delightful sound, and he held a gentle turn of the mouth. "Oh, dear lady, you speak my language… The language of fine cheeses. Don't make me like you too much, Inquisitor, I don't know if I could be the ruthless leader I'm meant to be if you go charming me with talk of brie and cheddar all night."

"I shall do my best to be unpleasant company, then," she chuckled to herself, crossing her legs and leaning against the back of the chair.

The flap was pulled aside, sending an icy breeze through the tent as two heavily armoured guards walked in, hauling a pale and slightly blue Cole after them. They clamoured past Lavellan, their shining steel noisily clinking as they pushed him toward the table and forced him down unceremoniously into the creaking wooden chair. His wrists had been tied together with a thick rope, and he looked scared out of his wits as he shook under his hat, thoroughly chilled to the bone. King Alistair stood by patiently, pouring himself a glass of red wine carefully before pouring two more for his unlikely dinner guests. When he placed the bottle down on the desk, he moved to the doorway, holding the glass to his nose to smell its bouquet and pausing, looking at the guards critically as he waited.

"Thank you, you're dismissed," he said after a moment, his hand gesturing toward the exit. The guards shot confused glances at one another, and they hesitated to follow the order given. Alistair's brows shot up as he continued to hold up his arm, sipping gingerly at his wine. "You are… _dismissed_ ," he repeated in a low tone, smacking his lips and lowering the glass, giving them a pointed stare. With that, the two men reluctantly left Cole's side, making it clear to the young man that they were only leaving because they had to, and bowing sincerely to their King as they departed.

Cole sat with wide eyes, the small bounty before him having captured his full attention. He'd at least stopped shivering, but he'd been out in the torrential rain while she'd been in here thawing out. Before she knew what she was doing, she had gone over to the foot of the cot and robbed it of one of its folded woolen blankets, coming over to Cole and draping it over his shoulders and wrapping him up, removing his hat and placing it on the floor next to him. Coming to herself, she clasped her hands nervously before the King and stammered, "Oh, I hope you don't mind! I didn't even think, I just… acted. Without thinking." _Creators, I sound like a complete idiot._

"No, don't worry, this is a no-thinking zone," he shook his head, holding a hand up. Pausing after he realised what that implied, he furrowed his brow. "Anyway, there's more where that came from. Take care of your man, don't mind me." He held a thoughtful expression as he looked at the unkempt, dripping lad, then asked warily, "Is he unarmed?"

"They took our weapons from us when we were arrested," she answered in a daze, collapsing down in her chair again. "He's not a threat."

"I won't hurt you," Cole said in a hoarse voice, trying his best to look at the King and not tear his gaze away. "I don't want to hurt any more people." Looking abashed, he lowered his head and sulked pitifully, glancing down at his bound wrists and trying to move his hands together toward the silver bowl.

Alistair sighed heavily and cleared his throat, setting his glass down on the table gently and lifting the pillow on his cot to expose a hidden dagger, the onyx hilt decorated elaborately with glimmering purple sapphires. He picked it up with decisiveness and moved to bend close to Cole, cutting free his bonds and discarding the rope in a small heap. "There you go," he nodded in satisfaction, avoiding their open-mouthed stares of disbelief as he went to the desk and picked up their wine glasses, placing them at the table before each of them.

"You c-cut me loose?" Cole stuttered in amazement, rubbing his wrists as he continued to stare at the King.

"Yes, well… Maybe not the wisest thing I've ever done, but definitely not the stupidest - believe me, I have witnesses," Alistair admitted, cutting a length of veiny blue cheese and popping it into his mouth. He closed his eyes, savouring it for a moment before waving his hand before the small feast. "Please, help yourselves to as much as you like. What have you had to eat in the last few days? Do you have a surname, Cole?"

The young man smoothed the wet blond hair out of his eyes, catching Lavellan's attention. He had never done so before, and now she could see his face clearly for what she believed to be the first time. His large, grey-blue eyes were slightly bugged and draped with dark circles, with brows so fair that they were barely noticeable on his drawn, ghostly skin. Lavellan could now get an idea in her mind of what the real boy that had once existed might have looked like in life, a somewhat unusual, yet handsome young man. "Just Cole," he said nervously, holding the silver bowl close to the pot as he ladled out the steaming contents. "And all I've had to eat – since the mountain," he added quietly, passing a glance to Lavellan in acknowledgement of the rations he'd stolen, "were the berries I found on the bushes as we went. And some of the plants, too."

"Hmm," Alistair nodded slowly, sipping his wine carefully. "I know what that's like. I did some of that during the Blight, but I was a younger man, then, and we did what we sometimes had to to survive… You seem younger than I was, back then," he said, giving Cole a once-over as he tilted his head to the side. "How old are you?"

Cole paused, the heaping spoon hanging midway between the bowl and his mouth, and shook his head slowly. "I don't know," he admitted in astonishment. "I've never thought about it before."

Alistair's brows furrowed in puzzlement and he glanced at Lavellan as she drank from her glass and began to fill her plate, willing herself not to fall with ravenous hunger on the meat and potatoes. "You don't know your own _age_?" He asked him disbelievingly.

"No," Cole replied simply as if not recognising his answer as anything unusual, putting the spoon in his mouth. After that, he bent over his bowl and practically shovelled the contents down his throat, barely pausing long enough to swallow and ignoring the scalding temperature of the stew.

"We think he's in his late teens, early twenties, but we don't know for sure." Seeing the King arch a brow in confusion, she sighed, "It's… a long story, my King."

"Right, okay then," Alistair pressed his lips to a fine line before shrugging and dropping the line of questioning altogether. "I hope you can understand why it was necessary to lock you up, but I trust the guards haven't been mistreating you." He didn't actually fully trust this, otherwise he would not have phrased it in the form of a question. He nibbled on a bit of buttered bread as he waited, giving them a chance to air their grievances.

"It was cold and uncomfortable," Lavellan admitted, "but no, they didn't do anything untoward. Well… other than your Captain wanting to kill us and hurling insults while threatening to destroy my documents, but that's no worse treatment than I'm used to at this point." She smiled to herself as she took a bite of seasoned potato, suppressing a groan that nearly gave voice to just how delicious she'd momentarily forgotten actual food tasted.

The King shook his head and straightened, looking regretful as he murmured, "Yes, well, Captain Yates has been dealt with. Unfortunately, I had to relieve him from his duties for the time being. I couldn't risk him inciting the men to violence or blaspheming the Chantry any further. He needs time to come to terms with what happened, I think. I apologise on his behalf; he's not usually like that. Once he can stop jumping at shadows, I hope he'll be ready to resume his post. He's actually a good man, if a bit hard around the edges."

"The guards want me dead," Cole breathed, his eyes unfocused as he saw something the other two couldn't. "I killed their friends and they want to see me suffer. A life for a life."

King Alistair seemed upset at the news, and anger crept into his voice. "They weren't supposed to say a word to you. They were expressly told _not_ to speak to the prisoners, and keep their distance. Who was it?"

Cole turned to him, confused for a moment before he understood what the King had been thinking. "They didn't tell me anything," he shook his head, not knowing how to explain, or even if he should. "No one approached me."

Lavellan's brow creased as she tried to boil down Cole's abilities without giving away his true nature. "Cole is… special. He can sense what others around him feel, what their innermost thoughts are."

King Alistair brightened as she spoke, clearly in awe of the skill Cole possessed. "No. Way. Get out," he grinned like a boy enthralled by some card trick from a street magician. "That's _amazing_! Here, do me, now," he shut his eyes tightly. "I'm thinking of a number! Go on, what is it? Give me your best shot!"

Her eyes sprang open impossibly large as her fork clanked against her plate noisily, and she shot Cole a warning glance. "Oh, I don't think that's – "

"Standing just outside the door, hot tears pouring down my cheeks. _I cannot have him near me, Eamon_ ," Cole spat in a feminine Orlesian voice, " _I hear what they say when they think I cannot understand! It's me or that bastard!_ He says I'm going to the Chantry in the morning. He doesn't love me, never did. _Stupid_ Chantry, _stupid_ Andraste, _stupid_ necklace! I throw it and it _shatters_ against the wall, just like my heart, scattering in a hundred little pieces. Oh, no, I'm so sorry, mother. I didn't mean to do it. I am, and always will be, just a bastard."

Alistair stared blankly at the young man for an unbearably long moment. Everything stood still, the only sound around them coming from the rain hammering against the tent. After a time, he grimaced and put his head down, shaking his head slowly. "No," he said at last in a slightly disappointed tone. "It was forty-seven."

"Yeah," Lavellan said, shifting in her chair as though that would alleviate her discomfort, "He, um… He mostly senses hurt feelings."

"So I gathered," he grumbled with a slight grimace. "That was… creepy and awkward. But I did ask for your best shot, so… nice shot." Trying to shrug this off, he cut off another slice of the crumbly white cheese and paired it with a bit of bread, chewing it slowly as he considered a new line of topic.

"Perhaps we should discuss why you summoned us here?" She offered, continuing her meal.

"The heavy stuff is best discussed once we've finished eating," Alistair responded casually, swallowing a mouthful. "So! I'm surprised to find you out here, your Worship. What brings you so far from your stronghold?"

She could ask him the same thing, and nearly voiced this thought before remembering her place. Instead she answered honestly, "I left the Inquisition, Your Majesty. It puts me at a disadvantage to admit it, but I don't hold the position anymore, so there's really no need to address me as anything but Lavellan. I'm just a civilian now."

This news took him by complete surprise, and he sat back, considering this. "I've not had any news come to me regarding that. Can you just _resign_ from being the Herald of Andraste?"

Her lips pressed together tightly momentarily. "It was fairly recent. You probably left Denerim before any news had a chance to spread."

"We actually left to come offer our congratulations and thanks to you in person for closing the Breach. I didn't think you would be the one to find us first, but I guess you saved us the trip. I don't know if there's any reason to go to Skyhold, now that you've shown up."

"Oh, if you're up to the journey, you should still go," she insisted. "After all, I didn't do it alone, and there are many people there that helped me and would appreciate the visit. My advisers – er… My _former_ advisers would be honoured to host the King of Ferelden. I know for a fact that there's a room available. And there are others there you could catch up with."

He frowned for a moment. "Who's there that I might know? I'm aware that Sister Leliana was your Spymaster. I suppose it would be good to see her again."

Lavellan approached the next line of thinking cautiously. "Grand Enchanter Fiona was asking after you," she told him hesitantly, "and it might be good to speak to her, if you were so inclined."

Alistair shook his head, dismissing this outright. "I've no desire to see the woman after what happened in Redcliffe. Why'd you even suggest that? You were there, you saw what happened."

"She realised the full implications of her actions, and I believe she wants to formally apologise to you… She said she knew your father, King Maric. I only thought – well, maybe she could share a story or two with you about him," she explained sheepishly.

"Hmm," he pursed his lips, tapping the table lightly as he mulled her words over for a time. "I'll take it under advisement," he nodded curtly. That was as good as a no, then, and Lavellan pressed no further.

"Morrigan is there," Cole put in suddenly, still doing his best to quench his appetite with more stew.

"Oh _wonderful_ ," he brooded further, glowering to himself. "Maybe we should turn around now before she turns me into a toad."

"Morrigan wouldn't do that! She'd like to see you again, though she doesn't dare to admit it. She has a – " Lavellan shot Cole a hard glance, and though he didn't see it directly, he sensed her abrupt warning and said no more for the time being. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his input, but rather she felt that it would be inappropriate for them to be more personal with the King than they already had been, and she didn't want to risk Alistair turning on him if it could be avoided. She felt horribly guilty when he fell into silence as he picked at his stew slowly, keeping his insight to himself, but Cole understood how she felt easily enough and he traded with her a gentle smile, her guilt dropping away as he accepted her wordless apology.

They finished eating in an odd silence, knowing that the real purpose for their presence lingered in the background, waiting for the right time to strike. It wasn't a conversation any of them would particularly enjoy, and the knot in Lavellan's gut began to take hold, consuming what was left of her appetite. Cole didn't touch his wine, but the King took no offence luckily; he would likely polish it off after he'd dismissed them. On what terms they left his Majesty had yet to be determined. It was unlikely that they could charm him enough to look past their transgression, and the look on his face didn't do much to convince her otherwise.

"So, you two present me with a problem," King Alistair began reluctantly, his features difficult to read. "Two men dead, a captain held hostage, and the culprits are none other than a famous heroine, beloved by the people, and her trusted companion, one of whom has committed a capital crime of which the punishment is to be put to the sword."

They both paled at his words, but kept dutifully quiet. Cole's anxiety was palpable, and Lavellan wished in that moment that there was something she could do to comfort him, but she sat frozen, waiting for a pronouncement of some kind.

"If I carry out sentences, I risk the ire of not only the Chantry, but that of Orlais as well. It would jeopardise the peaceful treaties only recently drawn up with the Empire – in no small part thanks to the Inquisition. If I pardon you both upfront, I face losing the loyalty of my own guard, or at least damaging morale if they believe I think their lives dispensable. Either way, I meet with an assassin's blade at best, or open war at worst. It might not be as bad as all that, but I have to consider all outcomes. And I'll not lie to you, I'm stuck for a solution."

The rain outside lightened to a sprinkle, only highlighting the tense silence between them as he weighed his options, biting his lower lip in concentration. This was indeed a terrible wire he was walking, and Lavellan didn't envy his position. All decisions had consequences, and she reprimanded herself for coming this way despite the advice from the dwarven merchant to steer clear. Had she avoided the road, or taken to the south to avoid detection instead of going north around the rockface, they wouldn't be here now. And those young men would still be alive.

"The two guards that died were well liked among my men," he told them sternly, conveying the sense of loss felt by the convoy. "They had families. Robertson's wife had just given birth to their first son."

"I know," Cole said sadly. "It was all he was thinking about when I…" his voice trailed off at the harsh look the King threw him.

"And yet you did it anyway," Alistair spat coldly. "To have done it out of ignorance of who the guard was is one thing, but to know something like that and still slit his throat seems callous and unfeeling! How _could_ you?"

Cole shook with fear. "I _had_ to," he pleaded desperately. "They were going to kill her! I had no choice…"

"There _was_ a choice," he raised his voice, shocking them. "There's _always_ a choice. They wouldn't have killed her; she would have been escorted to the tower up the road. You could have waited for her release there once they realised who she was."

"They _never_ would have released her," Cole fought back, shaking his head forcefully. "The Angry Man wanted to kill her! He may not have said it, but he hates _all_ mages. If he didn't get the chance himself and she went to the Circle, the templars would have left her to die in the dungeon… I couldn't let her die like that, not if I could help it!"

"You have a _terrible_ notion of what it is templars do," Alistair tried to reason with him. "They're far from perfect, especially now, but I trained under them for a time. I know what it is they stand for, and you couldn't know that they would ever do such a horrible thing."

"I _do_ know that," he replied, his voice going hoarse as he choked on his words. "I know it because I saw it happen to other mages… It happened to me!"

"Cole," Lavellan nearly begged him, "it's okay. Don't do this."

"No, I owe him the truth," Cole countered, taking a deep breath before looking into the King's eyes steadily. "I didn't know what I was, but the memories came back with Lambert's Litany – _scared senseless, starving, screaming until his song tears asunder. Trying to talk to templars, to make them remember..._ He tells them he's sorry for whatever he did, but they never come back... They forgot Cole, so Compassion came to comfort... And after I got out, they couldn't hear me. Couldn't see me. Lost to the darkness, and nobody remembered… Except Rhys."

"All right, I'm putting my foot down," Lavellan commanded, scowling at them both in turn. "This is unnecessary. Cole admits his guilt, but it was a desperate act of defence. I see no reason to torture him and make him tell his life story if you're going to condemn him anyway, so this stops here."

"He's _guilty_ , and I should have his _head_ for this!" Alistair arched a dangerous brow, studying her for seriousness. "Are you _ordering_ the King of Ferelden to halt an interrogation?!"

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, I am," she declared, meeting his eyes with a wary defiance. She very nearly wilted under his gaze, but she held firm. " _Someone_ has to advocate for him, and I'm best suited to represent him. He helped the Inquisition when he didn't have to. He aided those too weak and small to help themselves. He is a _good man_ , despite what you and your company may think of him. He's always had my back, and has gotten me through more than he's been given credit for. If you want recompense for the lost lives, then take all my coin and give it to the widows. And if you want to execute someone," she straightened herself, looking to Cole full of determination, "then let it be me. Take me, but don't snuff him out of this world; he's too good for it."

Cole stared open-mouthed at his friend, eyes round with shock. Someone he cared for was willing to lay down her life for him, and though she could see him about to protest, for once, he struggled to find words, even the ones that made no sense, his Adam's apple bobbing in his neck with the effort to speak.

Suddenly he gasped and turned to the King, his mood shifting from that of heartfelt speechlessness to outright shock. "Wait," Cole blurted, catching something he had apparently overlooked until now, "he's lying!"

Alistair grinned charmingly, leaning forward and taking Cole's wine glass between his fingers, sitting back against the chair with a contented sigh of victory. "Ah, I was worried that you would catch me too soon, but I'm glad you didn't. I wasn't aware you could read minds, so I had to play it a bit more carefully. That statement from you was all I needed, Inquisitor, thank you." He stood up and strode slowly over to his desk, retrieving Madam de Fer's decree and bringing it with him as he sat back down, skimming the document once more before handing it to Lavellan.

She took it with a trembling hand, thoroughly confused as she stared at the crinkled parchment. "I don't understand… What just happened?" She looked up in a thick haze, eyeing the two men as they stared at each other frankly.

He sipped from the full glass in his hand before explaining quietly, "I'm not the executing type, Your Worship, but for dramatic purposes, I needed you to believe I was. I had to know that Cole was important enough to you for me to risk freeing him, and you proved that easily enough. It's a damn shame about my men, but they were guards, and they died honourably in the line of duty. Their families will receive a pension, no need to worry about that. Besides, I'm not overly concerned with Celine's _feelings_ , or even the Chantry's, for that matter, but I'm not going to outright defy the new Divine. The rest of the guard can be convinced I did my best for their sake."

He paused to bask in the glow of his own success before adding, "And I _found_ that black feather in your pack; I may be a foolish doglord at times, but I know well enough where you got _that_. Do you honestly think I would even _try_ to cross Leliana if I could avoid it?" He chuckled as he shook his head, recalling the red-haired bard to mind. "I've known her for over a decade, now, and I've seen her spies at work in the palace. I'm not taking the chance of getting a _dagger_ in my back while I sleep, or having my food poisoned – not while I have no heir. Come on, give me a _chance_ to continue the line, people."

"What about Kieran?" Cole wondered aloud.

"Who's Kieran?"

" _Cole_ ," Lavellan sputtered, feeling slightly hysterical. "Now's not… Wait, why didn't you just ask these things yourself? Why the deception?" She said, her voice cracking as her pitch raised in bafflement.

He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Plausible deniability," he shrugged. "If for any reason they suspect everything isn't on the up-and-up, I can point out our fight as evidence that I didn't do what they accuse me of. There are guards on duty all around us; I needed your voices to be raised loud enough for them to be convinced, to hear me being forceful enough to believe what happens next."

"What happens next?" Cole muttered, wary of ears all around him now.

Alistair leaned back, eyeing Cole once more. "Your skills are not like those of an assassin. They come from something else, don't they? And from what you said, am I to take it that you're some sort of a, um," he waved a hand in the air, willing the word to come out of his mouth, "a demon, or spirit, or… maybe a ghost of some kind?"

"I'm spirit-like, yes," he admitted hesitantly. "…Does that bother you?"

"Not me, no," the King nodded pensively before tilting his head back and recounting his past experiences. "I've been a bastard prince, a Chantry brother, a templar in training, a Grey Warden during a Blight, and now a King. I've seen a lot of strange things before, but my men haven't, and that works to our advantage. I have a plan."

Lavellan realised belatedly that her mouth had been hanging open and she snapped it shut at this, shaking her head hard enough to bring things back into focus. "You're not at _all_ what I expected, King Alistair," she said approvingly. "You come across as bumbling, but you're deceptively crafty and devious. Where did you pick up that little trick?"

He stifled a laugh and responded good-humouredly, "Is that a compliment? Eh, I'll take it." He winked at her and took a swig of red wine before putting it down on the table, his smile audible in his voice as he quipped, "You travel with Princess Stabbity and the Sneaky Witch Thief for a year, you pick up a few things here and there. Right, this is what we'll do…"

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

"Lavellan," Cole had whispered to her briefly before they were hauled from their cages and shoved toward the large crates that had been lined up as a makeshift platform, "how do I pretend to be a ghost?"

Lavellan had done her best not to laugh, but it was evident in her voice as she'd replied, "You know what? Don't worry about it. Just act completely natural."

"Are you sure?" He'd murmured sceptically, "Shouldn't I have heavy chains to rattle, or do I moan and groan?"

"Trust me," she'd grinned at him, "you were born to play this part."

"I wasn't born. I don't think I was."

"Oh, right," she blinked in confusion. "It's just an expression. Just be yourself, Cole."

The guards and archers had gathered at the King's request to witness the pardoning of the Herald of Andraste, and the execution of the murderous young man who had betrayed her innocent trust. Fendorf had led her away so she would not have to witness the gory scene that would follow as she hurled feigned insults at Cole, crying and calling him a liar and a killer so all could hear. The armoured men jeered and yelled, coming to her defence as was anticipated.

Lavellan now waited at a distance further down the road, watching the spectacle as the coming dawn lit up the sky, brightening from a kissed, rosy pink to a brilliant orange and blue as the sun burst over the horizon. Hidden in the bushes, she squatted out of view beside Fendorf, the both of them watching the proceedings, enraptured in the spectacle that was borderline comical.

"Cole No-Surname," King Alistair shouted dramatically, his voice carrying easily through the clear morning air, "You have been found guilty of a capital crime! Double homicide, your hapless victims honourable servicemen of the King's Royal Guard! You must now suffer your fate at the mighty hand of justice! Any last words before I send you to the Maker's side for His perfect judgement of your black heart?"

Fendorf lowered his head and shook it back and forth, pained at his King's acting ability, or lack thereof. Lavellan reached out a hand and pat the man's shoulder in mock sympathy as the pantomime continued on.

"No words are necessary! I'd not give you the pleasure," sneered Cole defiantly, raising his face to the gathered crowd. "Remember my face this day, mortals, for it is the last you shall ever see of me!"

"That's the plan," the King smirked at the crowd as he drew his ceremonial sword high above his head, the men laughing and jeering as Alistair stepped toward the fair-haired man and lowered him to his knees.

It was Lavellan's turn to look away pained. She had urged him to play it straight, but Cole was clearly playing the scene up for his audience, following King Alistair's lead; he'd likely never had this much attention before in his life. She didn't know whether to feel giddy, nervous, or proud, so she settled for a combination of the three. Now came the moment of truth.

"May the Maker have mercy on your soul, tainted creature! I send you now to your death!"

Cole stared blankly ahead, and Lavellan felt a jolt at realising he stared directly at her as he spoke in a dark, foreboding tone. " _Behold_! I am the Ghost of the White Spire, defender of mages throughout _all_ Thedas! Fear me, and think twice before harming those under my protection again! You cannot kill that which is already dead!" And with that, Cole slowly faded away, vanishing from sight in a chilling, smoky mist.

The crowd of men gasped and cried out, some rushing the crates, others scattering to search the area, and the rest struck dumb, trading horrified glances with one another as they asked each other if they'd just seen what had happened. " _A ghost! It was a ghost all along_ ," one of the men's voices carried over the rest, full of terror. It was a beautiful scene.

Alistair stood staring at the empty place the young man had once occupied, his eyes wide with exaggerated shock as he ran his hand through what had once been Cole's body. "Dear me, what's this? That young man was an apparition! _Evil_ is at work here, men! Pack as quickly as you can, and let us make haste to Skyhold at once!" As the remaining men scrambled to load the caravans, the King stepped down from the crates and searched the hillside for Lavellan. Unable to locate her, he simply shrugged and threw up a hand in success and farewell, and she smiled her thanks, resisting the impulse to wave back.

Beside her Fendorf sighed, a look of wonder on his lined face as he carefully adjusted the braids holding back his long silver hair. "I cannot believe that actually worked," he marvelled. "To what god did you pray, in the end? I must know to whom I should direct future requests."

Lavellan turned to him, relief flooding every inch of her body as she set her pack down next to her staff and fell on her back on the forest floor, staring up at the tangled branches as the leaves swished lightly in the morning breeze. "I didn't pray to anyone. It all worked entirely on its own," she smiled.

"Well if _you_ did not pray, then the Creators must surely be looking out for you despite your rejection of them. Or perhaps it would make more sense if your Dread Wolf had a hand in that trick, as you said you are his servant."

"I'm _not_ his servant," she chuckled, waving a loose hand in his direction. "Don't listen to anything people say if you wake them up in the middle of the night. It was just a dream, that's all." An ancient pull at the back of her mind contradicted her forcefully and immediately, causing her to pause and frown in consternation to herself.

Fendorf nodded, giving her the benefit of the doubt. "I was certain this plan was doomed to fail, but it turns out I had less faith than even you, if that is possible. Well done, _lethallan_ , I am glad I could assist you."

He abruptly fell into a crouched stance upon hearing a twig snap, and jerked in surprise as Cole materialised into view from a puff of smoke, sitting next to Lavellan with an elbow propped up on one bent knee, having somehow already cut through his bonds.

"Did you see me?" He beamed, shaking with excitement. "Could you hear me from up here?"

Lavellan lunged forward and threw her arms around the surprised but pleased young man, knocking him flat as she hugged him tightly and kissed his forehead over and over, his hat tumbling and landing out of arm's reach. "Cole, that was _fantastic_! I've never _seen_ you do anything like it!"

"That's because I've never done that before," he chuckled, breathing in the free air for the first time. "It was fun! They all think I'm a ghost, now!" They both lay sprawled out on the cool ground, giddy with the effects of their new-found freedom.

"My favourite part was when you told them not to tangle with mages in the future, or risk incurring your wrath," she laughed as she held her sides. "I'll bet they won't be bothering anyone else they come across. _Beware the Ghost of the Spire_ ," she impersonated him, pressing her face into his leather pauldron to muffle the sound of her giggling.

Fendorf moved to stand over them, shaking his head in dismay. "You two are bizarre… On your feet; you must move quickly, now. Do you remember what the King said to you?"

Lavellan stood, putting her hand out for Cole, and he took it to leverage himself up on his feet. "Yes," she sighed regretfully. "I wanted to get to the Free Marches to see that my clan was laid to rest, but we risk hostility from others again if we do that."

Nodding in sympathy, Ser Fendorf looked down the road, squinting into the distance. "I will see if my contacts among the elves can carry that out for you and bring you news of anything found, but the villagers on the way there would not be as friendly to you as we were – take from that what you will," he said dryly. "You will have to head back to Orlais if you wish to avoid these troubles again; I do not think His Majesty can risk interfering on your behalf a second time, as this Kingdom is unfortunately not a welcoming place to the elves, nor to mages, regardless of title or standing."

He turned her to face south, holding her shoulder as he pointed at a glistening stream in the distance. "Follow the River Dane past Lothering and down the Imperial Highway to the ruins of Ostagar, on the edges of the Korcari Wilds," he advised her carefully. "There is not much there anymore except blighted lands, but I would still keep clear of the Wilds, as most of it is uncharted territory and Gods know what you may find lurking there. Once on the outskirts, cut a path west over the Frostback Mountains at the southernmost point, and you will come down on the other side in the Arbor Wilds of Orlais. Then head straight north into the Dales; you should be safe there among our People again… They would be glad to have you, I am sure," he said, a hint of envy detectable in his old voice.

"Will I see you there someday?" she asked, her green eyes filled with gratefulness and hope.

He smiled at her for the first time, pondering for a moment as he looked back toward the convoy, the expression vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "For now, my place is with the King, whether he likes it or not… He is not fond of me, and truth be told, the feeling is somewhat mutual. General Loghain was a great man, a hero in many respects, and the King is the one who executed him. His Majesty was not best pleased to have his enemy's best archers charged with his protection, but we are sworn to serve the Sovereign, whoever he or she may be." He sighed with an old remorse at the loss of his General and buried him away in his memory again. "Perhaps one day I shall retire from my duties to the Dales... but not today. I will continue to serve my King, for he cleverly spared our elven Herald and her honoured friend when he did not have to go to such lengths."

He placed a hand on her shoulder in parting, bowing his head low to reflect his sincere respect. "I wish you luck on your journey to the Dales, _lethallan. Ir sulahn'nehn mar vir sahlin revas, falon._ "

" _Ma melava halani_ ," she said sincerely. " _Ma serannas_ …" Lavellan pulled him into an embrace as she said her goodbyes. " _Dareth shiral_ ," she whispered finally, pulling away.

He nodded, clearly moved by the gesture, and returned her parting words. Turning to Cole, he said in the common tongue, "You watch her back, young one, and do not get carried away with your blades again unless you have to," he reprimanded him familiarly, pulling said daggers out of the sheaths on his back and handing them over hilt-first. Cole took them with a practised hand and spun the blades with nimble fingers, sliding them into their sheaths so quickly that Ser Fendorf held an expression that conveyed his high opinion of the human. "You would have done well among the Night Elves. May you also do well wherever your path takes you." He bowed once more and took his leave soundlessly through the trees and back toward the convoy.

Lavellan watched for a time as the guards continued to pack the caravans, Cole standing at her side quietly. She turned to him after a moment and took his hand in hers as she walked in the opposite direction, keeping to the trees. "So why did you really follow me?" She asked once they were under way.

Cole looked around at the winding trees, watching his steps carefully as he avoided jutting rocks in the grass and gnarled roots protruding from the soil. "I was… compelled to watch over you," he answered somewhat hesitantly before adding with a slight stammer, "and I-I was afraid that you had forgotten me."

She bumped his shoulder playfully as they walked. "Not possible," she smiled, brows lifting as she spoke, "I could _never_ forget you."

"Others that forgot me said the same... And you didn't say goodbye," he said, puzzled.

"Well, I tried to, but I couldn't find you," she explained. "Anyway, you said you were following me since the tavern, so… Were you _hiding_ from me?"

Cole was silent for a moment as he kicked at loose stones with the tip of his black boot. "Yes," he finally admitted with a sigh. "I wanted you to see me, but I was afraid if I came out that it would make it all real… I didn't want it to be real."

Lavellan looked at him after walking around a small bush in their path, keeping hold of his hand the entire time and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I've lost enough to know the hurt never really goes away. I can take it from others, but I can't do it for myself. I didn't think I could take losing another," he confessed, his face full of sorrow and regret. "But then you walked away, and… a voice… inside me told me to watch over you… so I did," he shrugged before glancing at her and then back down at the forest floor. "I haven't been much help, though… I'm sorry I caused so much trouble. I could go back to Skyhold, if you want me to," he offered nervously, slightly afraid of her answer.

Lavellan sighed, walking with her staff out in front of her for support as they reached rockier terrain. "Do you want to go back?" She asked him guardedly.

"No," he replied, shaking his head with decision. "No, I'm not going back there until I know you're safe – or unless… you tell me to leave."

Lavellan halted their progress and turned to face him straight on. He looked down at her expectantly, waiting patiently as she searched his face. "Cole," she started, holding her eyes steady on his, "I didn't realise how much I needed you here with me until you showed up. You _are_ helping; forget about what happened last night… I need a friend," she told him honestly, confiding in him. "Will you stay with me?"

Cole looked at her with his typical, doe-eyed innocence and nodded, forming a small smile as though finding her funny for thinking there could be any other answer. "Okay," he said so quietly that the sound of the breeze blowing through the foliage around them nearly drowned out his reply. "Thank you for letting me stay. And for calling me 'friend'."

She smiled and hugged him, now able to fully appreciate his presence for the first time. He laid his arms around her, patting her back softly in a soothing motion, and joyful tears stung behind her eyelids. "No, thank _you_ , Cole," her voice was muffled, buried in his leather and cloth cuirass. "I don't know what lies ahead, but I'm glad to have you with me."

Cole pulled gently from the embrace and offered his hand again as they pressed south toward the river in the distance. "I'm always here to help," he shrugged.


	10. Part Four: Marked For Death

As it happened, the better part of three days passed by quickly, Cole and Lavellan choosing to pass the time admiring the scenery and dipping their aching feet in pools of water as they came across them. Throughout their journey, they had foraged for edible plants, herbs, and berries, eating little and storing as much as they could for the times when the land wouldn't yield nearly as much in the way of vegetation.

The weather was mostly in their favour this far inland, but it was late enough in the year that the nights brought on a chill that forced them to share the single blanket each night. This didn't bother either of them, but Lavellan had found it a tad annoying that Cole would every now and again shake her from her dreams, claiming unconvincingly that he thought he had heard someone approaching, though she was too tired to call him out on it. If it wasn't Cole interrupting her sleep, it was the ache in her arm giving her too much trouble; one thing or another conspired to keep her awake, it seemed. This was disappointing not only because it left her feeling unrested, but because it made entering the Fade next to impossible, and all she wanted at the end of the day was to hunt for the wolf again.

Still they were in good spirits, their morning with the royal caravan still lingering in their minds and improving their outlook on the situation; at least they had an idea of where they were headed, now, and Fendorf had promised Lavellan that anything of note found in the Free Marches concerning her clan would be forwarded to her in the Dales.

Night was beginning to fall over the southern Hinterlands, and the two stopped to make camp high upon a ridge overlooking the plains below that offered a spectacular view of the countryside. After halving a Dalish recipe of elfroot and vegetable soup to restore them, or as close as she could come to it given their limited stocks, Cole huddled near their small campfire for warmth, looking into the flames with an expression that hinted of thoughts running behind his childlike eyes.

Lavellan used a damp cloth to give the wooden dishes a once-over before packing them away and joined him soon thereafter, directly across from him so that she could better study his features. "Copper for your thoughts?" She asked quietly, listening to the insects hum to life around them.

"I don't have need for coin, but I'd like to talk," he replied, looking up and holding a stare that those not acquainted with him would find unsettling. She found it a comfort, actually, the presence of another being something she hadn't expected she would miss when she left Skyhold. "Is there something you had in mind?" He inquired curiously.

"I was wondering if you had anything, to be honest. You seem lost in thought, over there… What are you thinking about?"

"Oh," Cole muttered, slowly taking his large hat off and placing it next to him on the grass. Lavellan did the same with hers and ran a hand through her hair to straighten it. "I was just… thinking of Solas."

She hadn't expected that; so far the elven apostate had gone unmentioned, they being too distracted with other things to sit down and talk about it. Lavellan shifted apprehensively and let out a slow breath, calming herself and willing the knot in her gut to loosen its cold grip.

Cole took notice of her unease straight away. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered, "I'll keep it to myself. I can hear how it makes you feel…"

"No," she reassured him, "it's all right, Cole. I don't presume I was the only one that was affected by his… Well, you know… Solas was your friend, too."

"He still is," Cole furrowed his brow, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his folded arms there. "I hope he's okay, wherever he's gone."

"Me, too." Lavellan was beginning to feel heartsick again after going so long without thinking about him. "Did he say anything to you before he left? About why he had to go?"

He shook his head sadly. "He… shut me out some time ago, and I couldn't talk to him the same way. I can only guess... It's h-hard to understand the plan when one half of the room doesn't echo back."

"I don't know if he _planned_ to go, really," she speculated softly. "I think after the orb broke, he just… had to go away, perhaps to clear his mind – like he did when the Spirit of Wisdom died."

"Wisdom was his friend, too," Cole said, shivering despite the fire before him. "He'd find Wisdom walking in the Fade and they would explore forgotten fragments together. Wisdom was the one who awoke in him the need to uncover the lost memories, to learn about life through the lives of others. That's why its death hit him so hard… He has lost more than most, but his hurt was subtler, stiller – an old song sleeping... A sadness I couldn't heal, that he wouldn't let me heal." He sighed with frustration, adding, "I wish I could have helped him."

"What would you have done…? If he'd let you, I mean."

"He still remembers better times," he answered her readily, "but they're gone now, lost to an era when everything sang the same. _Regret, remorse, he forces it down, hides himself inside, locks them all away…_ I wanted to help him forget, but he cannot move on until the curtain is destroyed... He almost did... for you…"

Lavellan's spirit sank as she looked away from the fire, focusing on the stars hanging above them instead. "But he didn't. I was a distraction, and he left me so he could do whatever he had to, without me…"

Cole shot her a pained glance. "That's _not true_ , Lavellan," he emphasised. "He _loves_ you still, but you're more different than he ever expected you to be, and it s-surprised him. You're real, and that means everything could be real, but it can't be. _To admit she changes everything might mean that everything doesn't need to change._ "

"I don't know what you're saying, Cole," she shivered as she met his gaze, hugging her arms protectively. "Could you be more clear?"

"I can try," he hesitated, taking a breath and letting it out slowly as he centred himself. "It's hard to explain in a way you can understand… He didn't hide because you hindered him; he was _going_ to let you in. It's why he spirited you away, so he could speak softly, secretly, without others overhearing. He's never told anyone before, but when the time came, his words wouldn't work… _Fearful, frightened, festering_ … So he told you about your markings, instead. Then when you believed and accepted, his hope glimmered, glistening like a candle in a cave, believing that you could accept _him_ , too... But no one ever has."

Frustrated tears stung at her, and she clenched her eyes shut to push them back down. "So my _vallaslin_ is gone because he couldn't tell me the truth."

"Yes."

"But _why_? Why didn't he trust me?"

"Because he's been hurt before," his words poured out, not understanding why she didn't already know this herself.

Lavellan scoffed at this suddenly, angered. "That's hardly an excuse! I shouldn't have been lumped in with people from his past. I'm not them!"

Cole looked slightly confused, then realised what she had meant by this and shook his head. "Oh. No," he breathed, "not by others. By himself. He made decisions, mistakes, errors in judgement. Cocksure and crafty, witty – yet witless. He didn't know if he could trust his own belief in you because things go wrong. _What if she runs? What if she tells?_ He was confident before, and his decisions caused all of this."

"All of what?" She asked, her eyes wide as her stomach knotted with tension.

He looked around them briefly before shrugging and repeating, "All of this."

Lavellan didn't know whether Cole was being purposefully vague with her or if he was incapable of expressing his meaning in a way she could comprehend. "Ah," she said finally, giving up with a small sigh. "Well then, I suppose… I suppose I can accept that. Though it doesn't make me miss him any less…"

"No. It doesn't," he agreed quietly, looking down at his clasped hands before adding, "Sometimes the hurt isn't as strong if people are given a reason why things are the way they are. It's the _not_ knowing that eats at them. _Moths trapped in a wardrobe, making holes in everything they touch._ It makes them unable to forget. But I-I could help you to…" his voice trailed away as he hesitated, thinking of a way to approach the subject.

Without needing to hear the rest, she shook her head forlornly. "It's fine, Cole. Don't worry yourself. You've been helpful already, and if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to hold on to the memories I have of him, good and bad… I just wish there was a way…"

"To help him," he nodded, "I want to help, too, more than anything – Maybe," he narrowed his eyes and lowered his brows in contemplation, "we could contact him…"

She was surprised to hear herself chuckle at that, and by his expression, so was he. "It's not as if he left his forwarding address, Cole," she smirked.

"I know," he replied, not catching her sarcasm. "There are ways, though. He has contacted me before."

Lavellan froze, her mind racing with questions, but she struggled against her own shock to give them voice. Cole and Solas had always had a strange connection; perhaps this is what he was referring to. Whenever the two had spoken in the past it was as though a part of the conversation was missing, but they communicated easily nevertheless, even if the others in the party were left dumbfounded and unable to make sense of it. Solas had said that it made more sense for those who had spent more time in the Fade, and it was beginning to make more sense to her, but that didn't go a long way toward understanding their odd exchanges.

She cleared her throat and mentally prepared herself. "What sort of contact?" She asked, arching a brow warily. "Has he been speaking to you in the Fade?"

"No, I don't need to sleep," he answered with the obvious. "I may rest, but it's not the same thing for spirits."

"I know that," she waved a hand. "I meant… Well, _how_ exactly has he been contacting you?"

"I don't know," Cole sounded slightly perplexed, but answered honestly enough. "I didn't know he could, until this week… I can... reach _out_ to Solas, in my mind. I search for him, seeking, speaking inside, and he _is_ summoned, sometimes, but… he has to be open."

"Wait," she blinked hard, trying to calm herself, "when did you find out he could do this?"

He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, and she had to will herself to not look as critical as she felt. It didn't matter _what_ she looked like, she told herself, because he could feel the truth anyway, of course. "It first happened the night before you left Skyhold."

"What did he say to you?" She straightened, anxious to hear the words.

" _I know, Cole. I am sorry_." His voice had taken on that subtle, quaint cadence that was unmistakable. It sent a chill through her to hear it coming from Cole now.

She stammered out, "W-what does that _mean_? What did he know?"

"I told him that you were leaving, and that you needed him. That we both did." He sat motionless, waiting patiently for more from her.

Gulping hard against the lump in her throat, she put a hand to her face and closed her eyes, recalling the night in detail. "Did… Did he say anything more to you?"

He nodded, the peculiar change in intonation and rhythm entering his speech again. " _Watch over her, Cole, for I no longer can…_ Ar lasa mala revas, vhenan _… You are free…"_

 _Vhenan_. My heart.

She felt a tear trickle over the back of her palm as she clenched her eyes shut, hearing the words spoken from that evening in the grove yet again; words that, for her, had taken on new meaning. Instead of being free, she now associated the phrase with desolate release, as though she was being shaken loose against her will from something to which she'd grown attached, leaving her with a sense of falling from a great height, never hitting ground.

Remembering the night spent sleeping at his desk, she received a sudden jolt of memory and looked at Cole, her trembling hand hovering near her quivering chin. "I don't understand," she breathed, the wind stolen from her lungs, "I _heard_ that last part! How could he communicate to you something that I thought I had only dreamed?"

Cole wrestled with his thoughts again, likely attempting to simplify the explanation enough so that she could comprehend it. "You were the paper, Lavellan. Solas was the hand holding the quill. I was the ink that he dipped his quill in to write on the paper."

Lavellan couldn't believe what she was hearing, but then, she knew what it was to hear whispering voices in her mind; the Well of Sorrows had imparted to her ancient knowledge and, seemingly, the shadows of the _Elvhen_ long forgotten in ancient history. Even now they talked amongst themselves like ghosts in her head. For the most part it was a white noise that she had trained herself to ignore for sanity's sake, and anything that needed her immediate attention was done so more loudly, distinguishing itself from the others in order to be acknowledged.

"I told him what you said – No, it was _you_ who told him," Cole cut into her thoughts. "Just before you left that morning, you spoke softly to him. I opened myself to Solas, then. He had an answer for you, but I… couldn't tell you at the time."

The minutes slowed as she stared into the flames, not knowing whether she could handle Solas' reply, or if this would be the thing that ultimately broke her. Part of her wanted to leave it for another day, after she had properly steeled herself for the delivery, but she knew that no amount of waiting would lessen the ache of what was likely the last words she would ever hear him speak. Even if Solas was not here to say them himself.

With a nod of relenting approval, she signalled Cole to begin.

He closed his eyes, his features going blank as he replayed the words verbatim. " _I am so sorry for the pain I have caused you_ ," he said in a familiar cadence that already threatened to tear her down, " _and will cause you in times to come_. Mala suledin nadas.. _Your kindness and enduring love are more than I deserve for what I have done. I will forever cherish your wisdom, your wit, your indomitable focus… You are a rarity in this world, and I count myself fortunate to have met you. I will retrace our memories in bittersweet fondness for an Age, and yet still it would never truly be enough to satisfy my longing for you,_ vhenan.

" _I say this with grave sincerity: May the Dread Wolf_ never _hear your steps, Lavellan_. Tel garas solasan. _Goodbye_."

Cole opened his pale eyes and stared at Lavellan, his face full of sadness as he waited for her to respond. She remained unmoving for a long moment, the pain in her chest nearly convincing her that her heart had literally torn in two. Grief clawed at her throat until it felt raw within her, and speech evaded her so completely that she wondered if she would ever be able to speak of Solas again without the agony she felt so thoroughly now returning at the mere mention of him.

 _Tel garas solasan_. Come not to a prideful place.

Before she knew what she was doing, her body rose automatically and walked toward Cole. Looking down into his face as he watched her, she smiled her wordless thanks to him, blinking as a tear spilled freely down her face.

Without a word, she pat his hair gently in parting and went for a walk in the cold night air to be alone with her thoughts, the light of the fire fading in the distance as the darkness overwhelmed her, holding the secret of her silent despair.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

Conjoined patches of large snowflakes fell delicately, swept up occasionally on nearly undetectable air currents as they made their way to the trees and rooftops of Haven. The little village, packed full to the brim with Inquisition forces and resources, was sleeping for the night after another tense day of eyeing the tear in the sky in the distance, which now pulsed slowly with smoke-like veil energy, swirling directly over the disaster site of the Conclave, the tear forced open like a gaping wound in the stormy clouds. Chunks loosened by the explosion hung in mid-air there in the same way they did in the Fade, as the two realms now overlapped in a suspended dream. Ellana Lavellan sat upon the slanted roof of the cabin closest to the breach that offered the most elevated, unobstructed view of the fallout from the blast, devoid of emotion.

She had acted under the assumption that sitting out in heavy snowfall on the frosted rooftop after sunset would knock her out of the shock and denial of what had happened earlier in the war room at the back of the Chantry, but thus far she was only feeling the biting cold. Frustrated and fatigued, she took a fist and slammed her knuckles against the roof, knocking a wooden shingle loose and sending it careening down the slope, flying out of sight off the edge soundlessly. It made no thump as it hit the ground, likely burying deep in the fresh powder below. She brought her knees close to her face and buried her head there, feeling the moisture of her breath condensate on her skin as she listened to her slow inhaling and exhaling for a while, a stark reminder that she was still alive.

She was alive, and they weren't.

It was an injustice.

" _Lethallan_?"

Ellana gasped at the soft voice cutting through the silence and nearly lost her grip on her precarious seat, but she stopped her descent by placing her hands down and forming ice crystals that attached like handles to her position.

Solas made his way up the incline as though it were a flat surface, his footwraps allowing for some stability, but not enough to explain how he managed to remain so steady on such a precarious surface. Reaching her, he sighed as he lowered himself down, sitting beside her at a companionable distance and remaining quiet for a moment as he took in the view of the breach, which loomed threateningly in the distance. "Have you come to admire the view? It is breathtaking, for all its obvious danger, isn't it...?" By his tone, she thought he was not only remarking on the sight of the breach.

"How did you know where to find me?" She asked him cautiously.

Solas smirked, his features in profile as he propped his elbow on a knee and relaxed his other leg. "It was simple, really; this is my cabin. I came to check that whomever had leapt onto my roof in the dead of night was not planning to dig their way in, as the door is in fine working order, if a bit rusty on its hinges. I can stand the chill, _lethallan_ , but when I realised it was you, I became curious as to what possessed you to come here, of all places. I see now why you chose this spot, in particular."

"Oh," she replied sheepishly, embarrassed. "I forgot this was yours… Did I wake you, Solas?"

"No matter," he waved a hand in dismissal. "Sleep comes easily enough for me that I will not suffer for having lost any."

There was an awkward silence between them, and they exchanged a fleeting glance with one another before Ellana lowered her eyes, Solas choosing to take in the view once more as he waited for the moment to pass. The night around them was still, save for the falling snow, which rested on their shoulders and dusted her hair. He ran a hand over his head to clear the flakes from his scalp, not seeming the least bit bothered by the bitter cold.

"Something troubles you this evening, _lethallan_ ," he started in a hushed tone. "Why else would you be here? Has something happened?"

Ellana considered this for a minute. On one hand, she didn't know if he would be sympathetic given his feelings toward the Dalish, but on the other, he was an elf like her, and she felt the desire to speak with another of her kind tempting. The only other elf that she was close to was Sera, but she didn't appear to be the least bit concerned about their People. Perhaps Solas would understand better, if not at least more than anyone else in the Inquisition would, but she found the words to explain herself escaped her.

With a trace of reluctance, she reached into the pocket sewn into her leather vest and pulled out the missive from Lady Montilyet she'd received not hours ago. It was warm to the touch after remaining so close to her heart since she'd been allowed to keep it, Josephine having made a copy for her records in anticipation of Ellana wanting to hold onto it. She stared at it, still folded in her hands with the broken seal cracking away due to the sudden sharp drop in temperature. Picking it off and pocketing the red wax, she handed Solas the parchment with a steady hand.

He unfolded it with trepidation and skimmed it over carefully, his mouth turning down as he processed the information within. As the words registered, she noticed his slight intake of breath, and he held it soundlessly as he shook his head in remorse. Finishing the report, he lowered the missive and placed a thoughtful hand on his smooth, angular chin, deep in contemplation. "I see," he said gravely as he carefully gave it back to her, closing his eyes beneath lowered brows while she tucked it safely back in its home in her breast pocket. "So they were lost…"

Seconds ticked by uncomfortably between them as he shifted his weight to face her. Keeping her head down, she did not return the gesture, instead focusing on the feathery flakes landing softly on her boots and melting from her subtle body heat, dripping down the sides as the liquid accumulated slowly. Solas nodded once, his lips pressed to a line as he watched her absently fiddle with a loose thread on her leggings. " _Ir abelas, da'len_ … I know it offers you little comfort, but I am truly sorry for your loss."

"I failed them," she whispered hoarsely, hitting her fist lightly against her knee as her face contorted in grief. "They're dead. They're all... _dead_. Keeper Istimaethoriel, Atisha, my uncle, my friends… All those children, just… gone." She wiped at her frozen tears as a light breeze swept over the roof and chilled her to the bone. "It doesn't seem real… How could everything be over with a single report?" Turning her face, her large green eyes met his blue, morose stare, full of unguarded sympathy for her. "What do I do now?" She asked, her voice suddenly small and childlike to her ears.

He placed a hand on her shoulder firmly, lending support. " _Mala suledin nadas, da'len_ ," he murmured as comfortingly as he could. "Now you must endure. Do not let their sacrifice be in vain."

" _Sacrifice_?" She cried with more of an edge than she'd intended, her voice echoing through the night. "They offered no sacrifice! This was a slaughter, a wholesale _massacre_! We were friendly with the humans, and those bastards _murdered_ us, anyway! Yet again, like clockwork, my People are betrayed by the bloody _shems_ , but now it's all because of _me_ and this _fucking mark_!" She gasped hard and let out a broken sob as she glared with rage at her left hand before hiding her marked face in her right, shock finally subsiding as she mourned her loss fully at last.

After a slight pause, she felt his arms come around her as he embraced her, offering his presence as something solid and warm that she could cling to. Turning her body, she buried her face in his chest and cried pathetically, grasping desperately at his knitted cream tunic. His hand rested behind her head as he pulled her closer with an arm, speaking gentle nothings in Elvish to soothe her until no tears remained.

"No one can take from you that which has already been torn away," his voice cut through her grief after a time. "Those whom have nothing to lose are not so easily trifled with, Ellana. Your enemies do not realise that they have made you powerful this day. Remember your People well, and draw strength from their courage in the face of certain death. It will aid you in your fight against that which must be destroyed at all costs."

"...You say that like I should be grateful for this opportunity to harden my broken heart," she retorted bitterly, struggling for composure once more.

The hand on the back of her head moved down to rest between her shoulder blades. "No, not grateful," he corrected, "but as you are unable to change the fate of Clan Lavellan now, you need not allow it to cripple your will to move forward. Use it to your advantage; never forget the pain this brought you, and let it become your motivation to succeed in your cause, to put things right again."

Ellana sniffed and pushed herself upright, Solas' arms falling away and folding in his now empty lap. "Well," she muttered ruefully, "that's... one way to look at it…"

"I am sorry." His shoulders slumped as he winced at her words, the snowfall increasing quietly around them, "I did not intend to distress you further... If I have, I can only offer my apologies. It has been… a long time since I have had need to give consolation. Perhaps I am unfamiliar in the position."

She sighed and wiped at her nose, glancing anywhere but into his strange blue eyes, studying her with curiosity as though she were an interesting specimen he'd collected and preserved. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to try again.

"Correct me if I am mistaken," he ventured delicately, "but it's likely you feel as though a part of you died this day along with your clan… Is that true?"

Ellana stared into the distance at the column of energy rising into the sky, evidence of the terrifying moment that shattered everything she once was and had begun the horrible chain of events that led to the death of everything she ever knew. "Yes," she whispered, her brows coming together as she fought another bought of emotions that nearly overwhelmed her.

Solas nodded his understanding, letting a few aching heartbeats pass by as she began to shiver. "I am not Dalish," he began pensively, "and I make no claim as to what you ought to do in that respect, but I believe you would be best served if you allowed that part of you to die with them, and let a new you to rise up in its place."

Reaching out a hand, he signaled for Ellana to give him the missive again, and after a moment of consideration she reached into her vest and pulled it back out, laying it open as she handed it over with a trembling sigh.

Taking it gently, he moved to sit closer to her as he held the report between them so that they could both read it with ease. "'Ambassador Montilyet," he read just above a whisper in a deep, somber tone, "I regret that my help for your Dalish allies came too late to be of use. By the time my forces arrived in the area, the Dalish had been scattered or killed, and there seems little left of their clan.'"

Ellana felt the tears roll freely now, fighting fiercely to remain steady. "'I understand your Inquisitor must be feeling the loss of her clan," she read on, her voice quivering, squeaking through with effort. "Please accept these gifts and my promise of future help whenever it is necessary.'"

"'Yours," he finished softly, "Duke Antoine of Wycome'…" Solas remained leaning near her as they looked over the parchment once more in a moment of reverence for the dead and lost. "It is a tragedy that the elves can no longer undergo _Uthenera_ … Every death is a great loss that need never have been. In its place there is only the funeral pyre and the Elvish Eulogy." He turned his head to watch her as she kept her eyes glued to the missive. "Would you like to offer this to your honoured dead?" He asked quietly.

Sighing, she nodded and took the parchment from him, damp from the falling snow. Holding it in front of herself at arm's length, Solas extended a hand, two inner fingers curled toward his palm, and cast a small fire spell. As he lit the lower left-hand corner of the report, the flames spreading over the ink and blackening until they were unreadable through the cinders, she sang, her Elvish song ringing through the night sky with sorrow:

 _hahren na melana sahlin_ (elder your time is come)  
 _emma ir abelas_ (now I am filled with sorrow)  
 _souver'inan isala hamin_ (weary eyes need resting)  
 _vhenan him dor'felas_ (heart has become grey and slow)  
 _in uthenera na revas_ (in waking sleep is freedom)  
 _vir sulahn'nehn_ (we sing, rejoice)  
 _vir dirthera_ (we tell the tale)  
 _vir samahl la numin_ (we laugh and cry)  
 _vir lath sa'vunin_ (we love one more day)

As the embers of the burned missive floated harmlessly away, Ellana felt her heart cry out with the loss of all she had ever known, of her home and kin. With an arm draped around her in comfort and support, Solas gripped her shoulder lightly. " _Ir abelas_ , Ellana, for you have died this day, as well. That which was your life before has passed on from this world forever. Go forward now with a new name… What will you choose to be called, _da'len_?"

She thought carefully for a moment, but it had already been decided in her mind for her, and her jaw set with determination. "From this moment on," she said, her voice sharp as steel, "I am only Lavellan. I hold for myself only the name of my clan as a constant reminder of what was lost, and that I am the last of them in this world."

"A wise decision, Lavellan," he said, strong and sincere. "May their souls find peace at last."

"And may the Dread Wolf take the bloodthirsty cowards who murdered them," she hissed icily.

Solas paused for a nearly undetectable moment in the darkness before responding with a murmured, "Indeed…"

They sat in reverential silence, huddling close for warmth against the chilly mountain breeze. The mark on her palm glimmered to life, offering an enchanting glow that lit against the shadows of their faces. Solas took her hand in his gently, the shimmering power passing through his hand harmlessly as he wrapped his fingers around hers to keep her warm. Her heart beating fast at the unexpected familiarity in his gesture, she trembled and smiled softly as a thought brushed to the forefront of her mind:

"You know, you're just like a Keeper to me, now, in a way."

Solas noticeably stiffened at her observation, his fingers tightening around her hand in response. "How do you figure?" He asked calmly, though she detected a hint of wariness in his voice.

"You're the only one I know who can impart to me the ways of the People," she replied, enjoying his hand on hers as he thawed her frozen fingers. "And… I want to learn, if you would teach them to me."

He paused for a time, considering her request carefully. "Pardon my curiosity, _lethallan_ , but... why?" He wondered softly. "My ways hardly resemble those of the Dalish… The only knowledge of the ancient customs I possess was learned on my journeys in the Fade. I could not tell you more than I have learned on my own…"

"Then take me to the Fade with you, and show me. I'm on my own now, too," she reminded him, her voice catching on the words in her throat, "and it's all I have left… You are all I have left."

He studied her for seriousness, his eyes soft and sympathetic as they met her own, and he looked down at their joined hands, brow furrowed with concern."I do not know…" Solas paused in consideration of his words for a moment, shooting a glance at her hesitantly.

Her eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Oh, I see… If you're not comfortable with sharing your knowledge, it's okay," Lavellan said, beginning to pull her hand from his warm grasp. "I didn't mean to put undue pressure on you, I just – "

"No, no," Solas tried to reassure Lavellan as he laid his other hand over hers to stop her retreat, clearing his throat quietly. "Well, we have to clarify a few things first, but we could – "

"It's not a problem," she uttered somberly, feeling foolish for putting him on the spot out of seemingly nowhere. "It was a silly idea. I'm sorry I – I shouldn't have presumed –"

" _Mana, da'len_ ," he whispered almost inaudibly, though his voice carried an authoritative tone.

Closing her eyes mid-apology, she waited patiently for him to continue as the silence lingered between them, though she more than half expected him to stand up and leave her there on the roof. Lavellan wished she hadn't said anything at all, and was beginning to feel more alone in the world than ever before. There was nothing for her now except her duty to the Inquisition, and she felt swept up in a strange new land, no one close enough to her to guide her through it…

Solas sighed, running his thumb along the anchor pulsing through her palm. "I am sorry… I'm not exactly accustomed to a Dalish accepting what I have to say, let alone asking me to formally instruct her, but… if you promise not to run me out of Haven with arrows and war dogs if you don't like what you hear, then I would be more than willing to teach you." He met her eyes steadily, then. "I have a few stipulations, though. Firstly, there will be no referring to me as 'Keeper'. _Ever_. I am not your Keeper, nor you my First."

Thoroughly dumbfounded that he would take issue with something so trivial, she stared at their hands for a time, her brows furrowed. "It only means 'Keeper of the Lore', Solas… What's so bad about that?"

He grimaced slightly, brushing delicate snowflakes from her hair gently. "It was not always so innocuous, as with many Dalish practices," he explained. "The term hearkens back to slave times, and I am not comfortable being called such… You are now free of that life. I sincerely mean this, in all aspects… Do not be so quick to shackle yourself to anyone again, including me, however tempting it might be to seek refuge in such troubled times. You must be strong… Do you understand?"

"Yes," she nodded, respecting his wishes. "All right, Solas, I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable," Lavellan relented, squeezing his hand once to signal she was with him, thus far.

"You couldn't have known," he replied sadly with a small shrug, squeezing back in acknowledgement momentarily. "Second," he continued, "and along the same vein, I won't tutor you in the ways of the People unless it is pertinent to your studies."

She shook her head in confusion, her breath misting before her as she huffed. "I don't understand… What _are_ you agreeing to teach me, Solas?"

He took one of his hands away and rested it on his knee, looking up at the Breach as he thought carefully about how best to explain himself so she could see. Head lowered, Solas closed his eyes and said with soft determination, "I will not train a child of freedom how to act as a slave. I would have you unlearn all of that… If you care to know the ways of _true_ elves, however... I would be willing to teach you, along with anything you wish to know about the Fade."

They stared at one another for a long moment, both of them harbouring hidden strength and stubborn determination. Curiosity got the better of Lavellan, though, and she found herself nodding almost imperceptibly at the prospect of gaining knowledge that deviated so strongly from what she was raised to believe. The snow began to fall with renewed vigour as the corner of Solas' mouth turned up, nodding back slowly.

And so they had struck a bargain.

"Very well," he said, patting her hands, "if we must call each other anything, I will call you ' _da'len_ ', and you may call me ' _hahren_ '. Still, though," he added in closing, "I have one last request."

"Yes?" She asked, pulling their clasped hands into her lap, her eyes meeting his intensely as her heart began to race.

For a moment he returned the stare, catching the shift in atmosphere, and he bit his smiling lip gently. Breaking the connection, though, Solas shook his head free of snow as he stood up, holding her hand to steady her as she followed suit.

"We have to hold our lessons somewhere warmer, _da'len_."

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

The road south was mostly vacant the next day, save for the occasional wagon they passed along the way packed to maximum capacity with poor farmers and their families who had finally left their barren fields in search of a better life to the north. They gave the dirty masses a wide berth as the womenfolk cowered in fear at sight of the lone apostate, hugging their small children tightly to their bosoms in needless protection of their most prized possessions. The men of all ages held tightly to their worn and rusted weapons threateningly in an effort to intimidate Lavellan into steering clear of their company.

Not once did any of these poor souls take notice of Cole, who for the most part remained as close to the elven mage as her own shadow in the full light of day. Though he doubted that any of these travellers would dare challenge her for wariness of her abilities, Cole kept his guard up in case some of the more desperate among them decided to take advantage of her seemingly solitary journey and attempt to challenge her. No incidents had occurred so far, which was a great relief; he would feel horribly guilty if he was forced to do battle with any of these ragged men, as they were certainly no match for either of them alone, let alone that there were two of them, even if they couldn't see him.

Lavellan's mind was lost in her own dark memories to compensate for the lack of conversation while Cole remained silent as they passed those along the way. With the loudness of her thoughts, he found it hard to concentrate on anything else, and distracting himself wasn't an alternative he could manage, either. Her hurt called to him, screaming for release, and he felt the pull of Compassion in his very being straining to resist the urge to give voice to her hurt long enough to clear the last of the unwashed older boys walking together and kicking at gravel as they passed far on the opposite shoulder of the road.

Once they were alone again on the Imperial Highway, Cole could hold back no longer, the impulse so strong that he felt the words tumble from his mouth in a volley of jumbled thoughts and imagery, the act enough to make him lightheaded as his voice floated out of him like ghosts emerging from their graves. "Snow falls on my boots. Body melts, water wells and flows onto the shingles like the icy tears falling from my face. _I failed them. They're dead. They're all dead_. Ink on parchment delivered like blood into my shaking hands. Cold wind pierces my clothes in the dark. He looks at me with eyes, sad and knowing too much. _What do I do now?_ "

Lavellan's spine straightened intensely as she stiffened, her body rigid and frozen despite the warm sun beating down on the empty plains around them. She came to a stop in the middle of the wide road, her hand gripping her staff until knuckles shone white against the dark wood, almost as though electricity passed through her, closing a circuit he could feel vibrating all around him.

Unable to prevent himself, he continued, "He calls it sacrifice, but sacrifices are made willingly. Ancient eyes pierce my soul, heat my blood to the boil. Rage cracks in my throat as the illusion of strength shatters. _I am a pathetic child. A child without a home_. He's saying things but I can't understand – the language is Elvish, but I've never heard his words before. A voice like an old song – familiar and soothing, but the lyrics never known."

"Cole," Lavellan stammered her interruption, "I'm sorry I bothered you… Please, don't do that – Don't… _touch_ that."

Cole stood behind her, unmoving as his brows furrowed sadly. "He wanted you to remember your hurt so you would fight harder for what was right. But the fight is over, and you still _hurt_ yourself! _It wasn't your fault, Ellana_ ," he stressed to her, using her former name so unexpectedly that she jerked, turning around with eyes wide at having heard it uttered again so plainly. "You tried to do the right thing!"

Lavellan shook her head hard from side to side, angry tears spilling out without warning as she grimaced and turned away, continuing forward at a swifter pace, her head hunched to her shoulders like she braced for an assault. "No, Cole," she argued forcefully, her voice deep and hoarse to his ears, "it was my fault. I could have sent forces to defend them. I could have sent spies and infiltrators. Instead, I chose to trust some _shemlen_ Duke I didn't know with the lives of my own People. I was weak in the face of real danger, and they paid the ultimate price for my foolishness."

"Why do you torture yourself with their faces before you fall asleep?" He asked, stricken.

"So that they are never, _ever_ forgotten," she turned to face him, eyes sharp and glinting in the sun. "You should understand that better than anyone. They deserve more than to pass from this life with no one to recall their names, their laughter, their smiles! They were good people!"

Cole nodded slowly, feeling less nervous than he ought to at being confronted in this way. "Yes, but you can remember them without blaming yourself for what happened to them," he said simply.

Lavellan was struck dumb, staring up at him with rounded eyes of shocked revelation. Apparently the thought had never occurred to her before, the crippling guilt so closely tied to her bittersweet memories, and now that it had, she didn't know what to do with it. "I…" Her gaze faltered, eyes lowering to stare blankly at the middle of his chest.

Sensing that she was beginning to understand his meaning, he calmly took a step toward her and held his hand up before her. "They died, and Ellana died with them. But only a _part_ of you was meant to die, not all of you. They wouldn't want you to hurt forever… Let me help you."

" _How_?" She breathed the word, her emotion breaking in her throat. "You would make me forget them, and I _can't_ …" The rest of her sentence trailed off as she struggled to explain, though she didn't need to; he could hear her thoughts clearly enough for himself: _I can't let them die again. I couldn't stand their loss the first time around._

"He taught you to harness your pain," Cole spoke evenly, "because that's what he did to survive, to keep them alive inside, to help him to fight. But he was wrong, for himself _and_ for you. You needed to forgive."

She glared suddenly, believing him insane for suggesting such a thing. "I _cannot_ forgive their killers. I _will_ not, Cole."

"No, they are bad people, liars and traitors, and they deserve to die. But I didn't mean them."

Lavellan's mouth was slightly agape, her expression blank as tears trickled down her cheek. He felt her mind relent as she gave it over to him once she finally understood that the person she truly needed to forgive for their loss was herself.

Her hurt splayed open, he reached a raised hand toward her and concentrated on the guilt, a black, festering ball that swirled in the back of her mind, corrupting the innocent, sweet memories there. Grabbing hold of it, he tugged it gently free from her without removing the faces that dwelt peacefully inside, and pulled it within himself, where it cracked and fizzled, dying in the light of purest Compassion.

" _Forget_ ," he whispered, lowering his hand slowly as he watched her for a time in silence. A flock of geese passed by overhead in formation, their faint honking to one another the only sound in the barren, choking land around them. Cole felt lighter inside, and knew it was because she felt whole again. He had closed the wound, and the elation at being able to help washed over him like a bright light casting out the darkness that always pulled at him behind the scenes.

Lavellan stared at him in confusion for a moment before checking inwardly to see that the memories were still intact. Then he felt her realise that if Cole had made her truly forget, she wouldn't think to have reached for the memories in the first place. Thoroughly relieved, she found them preserved in her mind, their names and faces saved there, uncorrupted and without the foul sense of blame and self-pity that once overshadowed them.

She could finally let them, and herself, rest in peace.

"Thank you, Cole," Lavellan smiled softly. "It's… good to see them again."

"And to _not_ see them," he agreed, returning the smile shyly. "I-I'm glad I could help you! Thank you for letting me. People don't normally let me."

Lavellan nodded and breathed a chuckle, shaking her head and turning south once again. "It's not as bad as I thought it would be," she admitted, waiting for Cole to fall in beside her. "Let's talk about something nice for once, shall we?"

"I can do that," he grinned happily. "Have you ever heard a kitten laugh, Lavellan?"

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

He found her facing the Eluvian at the heart of the crossroads, her armoured, shimmering hand hovering just above the rippling portal, a peculiar blue mist flowing from her and passing into the event horizon. She had the appearance and the intimidating grace of a high dragon, the deep reds and purples of her studded leathers contrasting against the brilliant white of her ancient hair, horned headdress displaying proudly the fashions of ages past, ages that no one in all of Thedas could recall for having been there.

No one, that is, except they two.

Fen'Harel swallowed his wounded pride and silently crossed the ancient cobblestone walkway, the proverbial tail tucked between his legs. His traditional dark footwraps solidified his connection to the land and reminded him that this was, in fact, reality, and not just some conjured nightmare within the Fade. Tall grass grew sporadically up between the cracks in the stones, and species of trees the likes of which had not been seen in all of Thedas since the Fall of Arlathan grew here in the stillness, keeping silent vigil over the only true place the _Elvhen_ could claim as their own, anymore.

He could have approached her with more stealth if he'd wanted to, and she may not have discovered his presence, making this encounter somewhat easier on his conscience. Perhaps that would have been a more merciful option as well, but he could not bring himself to go through with it in that manner; he may have been many things to many people over time, but a coward was not one of them. Choosing purposefully to meet her face to face, he recognised soberly that this old woman, his long-time friend, of all people, deserved to meet her fate with dignity. He owed her that much for how he had so quickly fouled up all their years of careful planning from the very start.

"I knew you would come," her hoarse tone greeted him softly as she lowered her armoured hand, the spell coming to a close. He needn't have worried himself that she might be alarmed by his sudden appearance, it seemed. Of course she had known he was coming; they had already agreed to meet in this spot once the orb had been unlocked to begin their fateful task. Unfortunately, he was delayed indefinitely by his own self-confidence and recklessness, and moreso, his orb was gone forever, lost after it had crashed to the stone floor on that ironic day. The citizens may have rejoiced over the healing of the breach in the sky, the closing of the rifts, and an end to the war, but much more than they could ever know had been lost… More than he would ever be able to recover. Every step he had taken to ensure victory for the Inquisition, everything he had fought to preserve, had been lost… Again.

And yet here she was, waiting as promised, and he knew that she knew all there was to know. Somehow that made everything all the worse.

She turned to face him slowly, plate gauntlets falling to her sides, palms outward in an expression of openness to show him wordlessly that she was understanding and forgiving of his actions, both past and present. "You should not have given your orb to Corypheus, Dread Wolf," Flemeth said, shaking her head sadly, her grandmotherly voice forlorn and knowing.

What little pride he had reserved inside him broke at her gesture. It was as though she had anticipated him muddling everything up from the start, that none of the events that had transpired since they'd last seen one another had come as any surprise to her, considering he was chiefly involved. How she seemed to know everything about him at a glance spoke of the great and long-lasting bond between them both that had formed first out of necessity, and then out of deep mutual respect. He could read her just as easily as she could him, and it pained him to see the resignation in her eyes, now. Though she had accepted the inevitable and prepared herself for this long before he had arrived, Fen'Harel was internally in a state of bitter denial over the step he must now take to restore the People.

"I was too weak to unlock it after my slumber," he admitted solemnly, though he knew he offered no worthy excuse. He had mistakenly thought himself cunning enough to deceive Corypheus into unlocking the orb for him. So certain had he been at the time that the ancient darkspawn magister, not familiar with the orb, would be killed in the process of unlocking it. Whether he had not been thinking clearly due to his recent awakening from his long sleep, or had critically underestimated Corypheus' true power, didn't much matter in the grand scheme of things; the abomination had lived through it, impossibly enough, and had in turn reneged on his end of the bargain, refusing to return the orb. The con had been conned.

There was a long, hesitant pause as Fen'Harel closed the distance between them, his brows knit in grief. "The failure was mine," he apologised to her mournfully. "I should pay the price… But the People..."

His voice broke slightly as he stood before her, looking into her face for a moment before closing his distraught blue eyes and lowering his head in shame. "They need me," he uttered gravely as Flemeth reached out a hand and touched his face. He rested his trembling hand on her wrist as she stroked his cheek bittersweetly. "I am so sorry," his voice broke, feeling the sting of tears and resisting them quietly. Tears would fix nothing, would save no one, now; it was time to be strong – if not for himself, then for the _Elvhen_.

Still, part of him hoped Flemeth would refuse to go through with it, and if she yet made any indication of reluctance, he was determined to hold off, to pull back so they could rethink this. Maybe a better solution could be found…

With her next whispered words, Fen'Harel had his answer, and a pit of sorrow in his belly opened upon hearing it: "I am sorry as well, old friend…"

He knew what she was sorry for: sorry it had come to this, sorry that fate was now forcing his hand, sorry he would have to carry on the mission in solitude… His head still lowered, he felt her eyes resting on him, waiting and willing. The time had finally come, and she was ready to embrace her fate. Within the body of the woman named Flemeth, the mysterious Witch of the Wilds, was housed the proud spirit of his closest and dearest friend, Mythal, Mother Goddess of the Elven Pantheon. Despite being two separate souls sharing one human body, they were bound so intrinsically that to separate them at this point was unimaginable. Flemeth and Mythal were one, as far as he and they were concerned…

But no longer.

The tragic trade of unspoken goodbyes passed between them, their hearts saying everything their mouths could not express. Summoning every reason he could think of to fight on, to continue in his noble struggle, he met her eyes, mustering the courage to act with decision. At last, he unbound the ancient magic within him, and it came forth and called out silently to the soul of Mythal, beckoning her out of Flemeth and into Fen'Harel, where she transferred herself inside his body.

No matter how committed Flemeth was to her decision, even the voluntary release of Mythal's soul from her form was an abrupt shock, and it incurred a devastatingly swift result. As she gasped, eyes rolling in her head, Fen'Harel threw his arms around the wizened old woman to catch her before she fell, Mythal's ice blue essence slowly making her way fully to him. The life ebbed out of the friend in his arms, her last breath wheezing out of her like a broken squeezebox. Lowering her to the ground, he held her close, feeling her dry up, crack, and stiffen with the cold hand of death. She had escaped that hand for centuries, and now that it had finally taken hold of her, she was left a mummified husk, even the clothes she conjured for herself blackening with the loss of the life force holding everything together.

Hugging her shell-like remains, Fen'Harel quested within himself for Mythal, his forehead pressed against Flemeth's chest in grief. Had they succeeded? Was she present? He felt no different. His arms tightened around the corpse as, for the briefest of moments, he feared he had lost them both. There was no telling what a sudden separation from a long-term bond to a mortal would do to her.

In an instant, he found her at the very forefront of his mind. He lifted his eyes to look upward, brow furrowed in concentration as he made direct contact with her. The power of her soul within him darkened his vision momentarily, blue flashes behind his eyes a strong indication of the health and resilience she still possessed after many an era. Her spirit poured out from his eyes and flowed smoke-like back down again, exploring the confines of her new environment. For a moment, his spirit rejoiced with hers at being reunited so intimately. Mythal had had no idea just how lonely it had been for him in his continued existence, but she felt it fully now, and her soul embraced his warmly in reassurance. Then she settled, determined to remain at the back of his mind and be as unobtrusive as possible.

Surprisingly, he felt incredibly isolated again, and the feeling was more vast and empty than he would have anticipated. It may have been comforting to remember her soul was safely stored within him, but the knowledge had more in common than he was comfortable admitting with platitudes mortals exchanged after deaths in a family, pertaining to always having the deceased person in one's heart, or memory. Though there was the tug of acknowledgement that she was alive and well, to have her standing separate and within Flemeth was more preferable to this. Still, there was work to do, and it wouldn't have sufficed to carry it out individually.

Although they were no longer physically separate, the plan was never to bond Mythal's spirit to Fen'Harel's body; he already had his own, of course. Instead, she would remain a separate entity, as she had in Flemeth, funnelling her power to Fen'Harel as he required it. The true problem they both faced without an orb to draw from was that they were too weak in and of themselves to be able to propagate and affect demonstrable change to the world, so they had no other choice left to them now other than to pool their collective strength, united in one form. He would not have the limitless mana and magic an orb could provide at his fingertips, but being twice as powerful as before would have to suffice.

Of the two of them, Fen'Harel's body held the obvious advantages: youth, at least when compared with Flemeth's mortal curse of the quickening; better condition, considering his relatively recent awakening from _Uthenera_ , leaving him well-rested for the task ahead; and the simple fact that his body was not only the one he had been originally born to, but he was also elven, of the People, and Flemeth was merely human. It might prove difficult to assemble the elves of Thedas behind _Asha'belannar_ , as they called her, despite the fear and respect they showed her. Coming to this clinical conclusion each on their own, Flemeth had acquiesced, marking the end of an era: the death of the Witch of the Wilds.

As the environment around him settled back down to something resembling reality, Fen'Harel gently set Flemeth's mummy down and stood up cautiously. He had thought having another soul within him would cause him to feel unbalanced, heavy-laden, or disturbed somehow, but not much if anything had truly changed about him. The air still passed through his lungs, and the world continued on around him as normal.

Sadly, Fen'Harel shook his head, looking down on her body one final time and sighing heavily before he closed his eyes and walked away from the dreadful scene, alone once more with only his memories of failure and regret.


	11. Chapter 11

Cole watched Lavellan cook breakfast the following day as she sipped at her morning tea, rubbing her left shoulder roughly between stirring the food and drinking the hot brew to restore herself. He had tried to busy himself with packing up their belongings, but they owned so few items now that he'd finished within moments of starting the task. Absently, he pulled at dry tufts of dead grass beside him and tossed them into the flames, watching the fire consume the blades as they curled and blackened, floating away in sparks of orange embers in the still morning air. The eggs Cole had found abandoned the previous afternoon had been tossed into their only pot, as had the remainder of King Alistair's cheese he'd graciously parted with and some dried herbs from the pack. It wasn't much, but with Dorian's tea and a bit of Sera's travelling biscuit, it would be enough to sustain them for a time.

As Lavellan removed the pot and gave Cole a couple of spoonfuls on the wooden plate, he reached out again to his friend to no avail. Solas wasn't responding to Cole for some unknown reason, and his efforts had gone unrewarded all night as he'd tried to contact him in vain. Lying awake next to Lavellan, he'd shared the blanket with her as she slept to keep her from shaking. What little he could do for her he had done, and his gift for compassion was able to soothe her mind enough for her to rest easily after the anchor had finally died down for the night.

It was getting worse for her, and he knew it. She didn't know the true cause of her daily aches and pains, and he was helpless to heal it. Solas might know something, though, and that's what he had intended to ask, if he could just break through. Why wouldn't he answer Cole, anymore? Was something wrong with Solas, as well? He sincerely hoped not.

The thought set his stomach turning, but he resolved to eat his breakfast, anyway. Lavellan liked to cook for him, even though not feeding him would make the food supply last longer. He poked at the scrambled eggs and moved them listlessly over the plate as he probed with his mind through the darkness, hoping to establish contact this time. _Solas_ , he thought in frustration, _are you there?_

No answer. Again.

"What's wrong with your eggs?" Lavellan asked casually, interrupting his search.

"What? Oh. They're… fine," he said, taking a bite just then. They'd gone cold already, and had an odd, gummy texture. She may have liked to cook, but it didn't mean she was any good at it. That was probably unfair; if she had access to a kitchen and proper ingredients, Lavellan might be much better at it. It was the thought that counted, though.

She smirked. "Just fine? I thought they were _egg_ cellent."

Cole looked at her with a puzzled expression. " _Egg_ cellent?" He repeated, unsure he'd heard her correctly.

Lavellan grinned as she broke off a portion of the biscuit and popped it into her mouth, a good-humoured lightness about her. "Oh, yes, they're _egg_ xquisite, aren't they?"

"You keep saying words wrong," he said, concerned that the mark was beginning to affect her speech. "Are you all right?"

"Just coming out of my shell, this morning. Don't mind me."

Cole shovelled the remainder of his eggs into his mouth and swallowed hard, wincing slightly. "I don't mind," he shrugged, placing his hat upon his head and nibbling at the biscuit to cleanse his palette.

"Ah," she sighed in satisfaction, "I crack myself up. _HA_! ' _Crack_ '! I didn't even mean to do it, that time!"

His brows shot up questioningly before it dawned on him. "Oh, _I_ get it! Are you telling bad egg jokes?" He asked.

"Ooh, right to the heart!" She pretended to be wounded, but Cole didn't sense she was actually hurt in any way. _That must be part of the joke, too_ , he assumed. Chuckling, she added, "And they're not _that_ bad."

"Oh, yes they are," he commented honestly. "They're worse than Sera's."

"…My puns are better than Sera's."

"Maybe, but I didn't understand her's, either – I didn't understand much of what she said, half of the time."

Nodding, she arched a brow and sipped at her piping hot tea. "Pots and kettles, Cole, pots and kettles," she smirked, placing the cup against her lips for another swig.

He finished his biscuit as a thought occurred to him. "Cullen had a funny joke about horns," he recalled, his mouth packed with dry crumbs. "I can tell jokes, too. Varric taught me. I could give you an _egg_ xample."

Lavellan sprayed the tea out her mouth and into the fire, laughing as the wood hissed and smoked, evaporating the liquid instantly. " _Fenedhis,_ Cole," she coughed, choking slightly, "you caught me off-guard! I didn't expect you to join in with the egg stuff!"

"Why did the chicken cross the road, Lavellan?" He grinned, giddy with the urge to tell the punchline as he swallowed the remainder of his meal. "Now you go."

"I don't know, Cole," she answered in a monotone. "Why _did_ the chicken cross the road?"

"To get to the other side." He waited expectantly for her to laugh, but she continued to stare at him, a wide smile over her face. "Maybe jokes about chickens and eggs aren't really funny," he mused, turning away. "Varric said that was the perfect joke for me. He called it a Cole joke, but you didn't laugh. Is that a bad thing?"

"No," she said, holding the steaming tea up to her face, "Varric probably called it a Cole joke because it's very old and everyone remembers it, but it's still good."

"Really...? _Thank you, Varric_ ," he whispered, feeling better. He poured the boiling water from the kettle over his plate and wiped at it with a sleeve to dry it. It somehow seemed dirtier, now that he'd done that, and he ought to have used a cleaner cloth, but he didn't have one handy. The further south they went, the dustier and drier the land became. The water was becoming scarcer, and he knew they would have to venture into the Korcari Wilds for just a little while if they were to get anything drinkable. No wonder all those farmers were passing them on the road north; there wasn't anything here, anymore.

"So did it work, last night?" Lavellan interrupted his thoughts.

Cole turned to look at her in a daze. "What – oh. No," he realised suddenly. "I tried, but he didn't answer me. I think he's busy…"

Pondering this, she ran a hand through her fair hair. She had a tendency to do that when she was thinking… or avoiding something, or… Well, she did it a lot, actually, Cole mused to himself.

"That's okay; I wasn't expecting much, to be honest," she shrugged. "Thank you for helping me sleep, though. It's getting more difficult with this damned arm. I don't know what I did to it, but I must have wrenched it in the final battle, somehow… It's been killing me, lately."

Cole's face contorted in a wince at the turn of phrase and he glanced away awkwardly.

"What's wrong?" She asked, having caught his expression.

He wondered if he should say anything for a time. It was clear in her veil-green eyes that she was unaware of what was happening to her at night, and he knew he ought to tell her, but somehow he felt that saying it out loud would make it real. He shook his head at his own excuses. It was real whether he acknowledged it or not; the real danger laid only in not letting her know the truth so they could do nothing about it until it was too late.

He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out slowly as he turned to her again. "Lavellan," he started cautiously, "if I told you something, would you promise not to be angry with me?"

She sat still for a few seconds as she stared at him. "Oh, this sounds foreboding," she smirked jovially. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," he blurted, his eyes round with worry. "Well, I might have. I don't know… I think… There's something you should know about your hand."

Glancing down, Lavellan turned her left hand palm-upward, her brows coming together as she wondered what he was on about. "Is something wrong with it?" She asked cautiously.

"I…think so," he admitted slowly. "The anchor. It didn't used to hurt, did it?"

She tilted her head to the side and shrugged as she thought about it. "Sort of… At first, it hurt like hell, but once I started closing rifts, it only stung a bit after that. Almost like little shock waves, or needles stabbing me. It feels hot, like it's too close to a fire, if that makes any sense. Other times it's absolutely painless, but I figured I was just getting used to it. It's tolerable for the most part, unless I'm close to a rift, and the power feels like it might overwhelm me – that's only happened a few times, though… Why do you ask?"

Cole stared at her hand with a morbid fascination. "It's like the darkness, then, in a way," he muttered to himself. When he looked up and saw her eyes bidding him to continue, he focused on his fidgeting hands and explained, "There was a black void inside me, before the amulet fixed me. A terrible, deep darkness. When I lived at the Spire in Val Royeaux, it felt like I was getting pulled down into it, like I would be lost to the nothingness there. Shadowy hands trying to drag me under… I thought I had to… to kill to keep it back. When I did, it would make me feel more alive, more real. In those moments, I mattered the most to them, and they thanked me for it, and… And the darkness would slip away again for a while."

Lavellan shook her head, not comprehending. "How is that like my mark at all?"

He scooted himself toward her and pointed at her palm. "That… mark, that anchor… When you use it – when you close the rifts – the pain goes away for a while, just like the darkness."

"I suppose," she agreed cautiously. "It had that effect. It was a relief to close the rifts, and the power would – " She stopped, her mind working to fit the puzzle together. "Oh, I see," she said finally, looking at her hand with deep concern. "Do you think…"

Cole nodded and breathed gently, "It wails when it's awakened. The magic there bursts and breaks, sings and screams. It's confused, without a home to contain it properly. It looks for one…" He gulped audibly, preparing himself to arrive at his point. "The anchor is… spreading."

Her mind screamed inwardly with hundreds of voices, and Cole had to resist the urge to pull back from it, the shock reeling him. To combat it, he sent out waves of calm over her, but she was still frightened, thinking so quickly with multiple avenues of thought that he had to strain to hear even the loudest among them. It was unlike anything he'd heard from other minds.

"Sorry," her voice trembled, "those are the voices."

"The voices?"

"From the Well of Sorrows at the Temple of Mythal. They, um," she cleared her throat and clasped her hands to stop her panicked shaking, "they speak to me, try to tell me things."

"What did they say to you?" He wondered.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on what the voices were shouting. It was a mass of feelings, a jumble of Elven voices, floating and faint, yet taken together, as loud as the roar of ocean waves crashing along a rocky shore. "They're confirming the truth of what you say. The ancient elves were more familiar with these orbs and their magic than anyone alive today, but there's no way to interpret what they say to me, other than the flashes of emotions they share. Most of the time, I only get a yes or no from them, a little indication of truth or lies… Their true knowledge is locked away from me, for now…"

"Oh," he replied, "so they're like spirits?"

"Yes, like that." She didn't much care to talk about what the voices were. That, she could live with.

It was the anchor that she wasn't so sure about.

Cautiously, Cole approached his next line of thought, hoping this wouldn't send her teetering on the edge. "There is _one_ person who might know what to do for it."

Her wide eyes darted from the fire to her hand, to Cole, and back again. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to that," she muttered worriedly, anxiety seizing her as she laid the afflicted arm over her stomach. "He doesn't want… Cole, do you remember what you told me the night before last, when you relayed his message to me?"

"Yes," he nodded, crossing his legs and rocking himself slowly back and forth to pass the time.

"Well," she explained, "he said a phrase in Elvish in parting, but… the context in which it's normally used didn't apply to anything he said. It means 'come not to a prideful place'… ' _Solas_ ' is the Elvish word for pride, but if you don't translate that word, then what he was really trying to say was – "

" _Do not come to me_ ," Cole realised. By her grim nod of affirmation, he knew he had been correct. So Solas had tried to dissuade her from looking for him. "But things are different, now," he pleaded, trying to make her see reason. "If he knew what was happening, he would want to help us!"

"Are you sure about that?" She moped sardonically.

"Of course he would! I – he… _would_ help us, wouldn't he…?" A pit was forming inside him at the thought that his friend would truly abandon them in their time of need, and he felt his confidence wane slightly after more consideration.

Lavellan closed her eyes, frowning sadly. "I wish I had your confidence," she said simply, leaving it at that.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

They had passed the settlement of Lothering some days back, finding the place to be nothing more than a ghost town now. The Fifth Blight a decade ago had claimed the place for its own, a smouldering testament of the havoc and pain that had been the town's final, ragged breath against the invading darkspawn. Cole was reasonably certain that some people had made it out alive, but the all-too common sprays of old blood on the wooden planks of gutted houses told a darker tale, one of hopelessness and horror. Hollow homes were charred and blackened with signs of fire and destruction, the Chantry building no more than a dilapidated ruin. They had searched what they could, but found nothing of value that they might salvage, the scene likely already having been picked clean by scavengers years prior.

He could still hear the screams of mothers and their children separated in the chaos, echoing through the deadened, barren farmland, fathers and brothers rushing without a second thought to give their families and neighbours enough time to escape the carnage. They hadn't a chance, the poor souls…

Among the crushed, crumbled stones of the Chantry, Cole had discovered a small stuffed cat, the seams loosened with the love and handling of a small boy who had left it behind by accident as his family dragged him from his slumber in the dead of night to run for their lives. He had cried for weeks on end over this missing little toy, not understanding the full implications of what had truly been lost forever that day. Ghosts of lives once wholesome and simple echoed in that place after reality had shattered it all, and it had been a relief for them both to leave it behind and move further south along the winding road toward the Korcari Wilds.

As they approached the ancient keep of Ostagar, though, things had dramatically worsened. The ground under their feet was desolate, lifeless and bleak. Dead trees that had once made up the infamous forest had curled and twisted like aged, diseased bones, the only liquid to absorb from the dry soil having been the spilled blood of the corpses that once had strewn all around for miles. Scavenging birds and critters large and small had long since left the area in a mass exodus to look for life elsewhere, leaving the cold, humid air unnervingly silent. Even the rainfall that was common here hadn't been enough to cleanse the grounds of such evil.

Cole and Lavellan slowed considerably, both of them able to feel the sickly air crawling on their skin. The veil separating the physical and the spirit world was thin here, as it usually was in places that held such dark memories. He likened it to the chilly, foreboding feeling he'd experienced at the ancient Warden stronghold of Adamant, but near Ostagar it felt much worse, probably due to the fact that the events here had not yet faded with time and history. The recentness of this battle guaranteed that this place would be blighted and abandoned for ages to come.

The noticeable weakness in the veil had other unforeseen side effects, too. At certain points throughout their hike, the anchor had sizzled to life in Lavellan's hand, and she had had need to stop in order to double over from the searing pain. Her mark was drawn to the Fade, and it sought release where there was none to be found. During those few brief episodes, Cole was usually busy elsewhere collecting firewood or scouting ahead for a ways, but despite her efforts to conceal her distress until the moment passed, he had come running every single time to her side without fail, having sensed with his unique perception what was happening. It was becoming abundantly clear that they were going to have to turn west immediately in order to avoid plaguing her further.

It was somewhat of a role-reversal in a way, between them. For the most part since she'd met him, Lavellan had treated Cole almost like the kid brother she never had, having spent much of her interactions with him guiding Cole in his understanding of the mortal world and its strange ways. Now that she found herself being looked after and attended to by the very person she'd assumed she would have to do the most providing for, she felt for the first time a sobering vulnerability. Was this what some parents felt as they succumbed to the inevitable effects of old age, when the very children they'd raised suddenly became their carers? He knew she was uncomfortable with occasionally needing to rely on him, but Cole was simply glad that he had followed her, despite the trouble he had initially caused. What would she have done if she was alone for all of this? At least he was someone that she could count on not to resent the responsibility of caring for her, as it was in his very nature to do just that.

This was not to say that the need for caring was completely one-sided, though. With the evils of this place also came the hauntings, and what was perhaps merely a passing disturbance to the average person was amplified to a chilling degree for Cole. Spirits like him pushed and groaned against the veil, calling out to him, and their songs rang out around him off-key, out of step, and shrill to his ears. It wasn't the tolerable, even comforting sounds of an orchestra warming up before a performance, individual musicians tuning their polished instruments in a grand concert hall; this was another beast entirely, one that played relentlessly with such malice and violence that he was in no time desperately pressing his hands over his ears to shut it out. Because the song wasn't audible, though, his efforts were wasted in his attempt to stifle the screeching strings and inhuman screams. Syncopated drum beats didn't even bother to keep a tempo, adding to the sense of madness around him.

Lavellan's sense of danger heightened to the highest degree each time Cole was brought to the breaking point, giving voice to the haunting messages of the dead, repeating over and over in his head and demanding to be spoken aloud. The tearful, terrified thoughts of dying Ferelden Soldiers; the wounded wails of mabari war dogs impaled on spikes as they charged the lines; the low, harsh cackling of darkspawn in a berserk rage; all of them assaulted his senses and left him half crippled. This had been a bad idea, coming this close to the battlefield. Even Lavellan was now murmuring prayers to the gods she claimed not to believe in in the hopes that something would intervene on their behalf and guide them out safely.

At the vibrating bellow of a horn blast, Cole watched Lavellan jump nearly out of her own skin, and she screamed for Cole to run. She had heard it, too; he thought the song was only worsening, but as it turned out, a slew of straggling darkspawn had caught wind of them and were approaching on their flank. There were ten of them at most, but in their condition they were no match to turn and face them in open combat, and the horn had likely signaled others nearby of their presence.

 _Why are there still darkspawn here when the Blight was ended?_ He wondered as he tore through the dead landscape after his friend, black, poisoned arrows cutting the air as they flew past him, narrowly missing him each time. Then he remembered seeing inhuman forms of these tainted men roaming the Wastes years ago, and realised with a start that they all but owned this area now. With no one here, they could come out of the ground and do as they pleased, and the song that used to unite them was no longer coherent. So they wandered aimlessly. The Grey Wardens ought to do something about that, but there was no time to scrutinise their cleanup efforts with hurlocks commanding the genlocks to chase after them.

Lavellan tripped over a gnarled root and went flying through the air in front of him. Stopping to help her up, they realised they'd lost too much ground and didn't have time to escape. Cole concentrated for all he was worth on vanishing, attempting to take Lavellan with him. She interrupted him and thrust her hand out to throw up an ice wall between themselves and the darkspawn instead, which bought her enough time to reach a shaking hand into the pack tied to her belt and uncap a vial of lyrium to enhance her mana.

He knew they had to fight, or they would surely die.

Releasing her arm, Cole slipped into shadow, vanishing entirely from sight as the genlocks hacked their way through the ice with their massive axes. As Lavellan distracted their attention with bursts of intense flames, he manoeuvred himself behind their roaring attackers and began to backstab them mercilessly, sharpened metal parting flesh and bone with every deadly slice of his blades. He easily took out three of the monsters on his own, stabbing precisely below the lower floating ribs on their backs, tips pointing upward into their squishy organs as they writhed on the hilts of his curved daggers, collapsing in lifeless heaps on top of one another.

Covered in their hot and spurting black blood, he leaped on the back of the largest among them and buried his twin blades into either side of the knotted masses of muscles where the pauldrons met its veiny neck. It seethed with rage, arterial spray dousing him as he balanced precariously on its broad shoulders, but before it could reach up and hurl him aside, Lavellan shot it directly in the face with an ice spike, the sickly sound of its skull crushing on impact.

She sent out a forceful blast that threw the remaining darkspawn to the ground, and with a final grunt of agony, she thrust out her left hand and tore the veil wide with a rift that screamed and tore at flesh and chain mail alike, pulling fragment after fragment of the enraged genlocks and hurlocks into the Fade, where their ashes would dust the floors there for eternity.

Panting with adrenaline and exertion, Cole sheathed his weapons and stumbled over to Lavellan, yanking her to her feet. She had fallen to her knees with the strain of her final attack, cradling her still-sizzling hand that refused to die down as it had done in the past, and she yelped in pain as she shook her palm. He empathised, but knew if they didn't move now, more would soon follow in their wake. With great effort, he took her available hand and shared his power with her, disappearing entirely and moving as fast as he could away from this waking nightmare.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

War horns blared sporadically in the distance, but Lavellan continued to cling tightly to Cole's hand as he all but dragged her to safety. Her arm was starting to contract and cramp, and the anchor continually made crackling, vicious sparks that not only made her feel like she was being cooked alive, but also lit up like a beacon that might as well have simply announced their location with a loud, _Over here, darkspawn hordes!_

She didn't know where they were going to hide themselves away in this dead forest, but they would need to find somewhere suitable, and soon. Cole's nose was dripping blood with the effort to extend and sustain his power of invisibility to include her, and she realised with a sinking feeling that he wouldn't last much longer this way. Luckily, the light was beginning to die for the day, the cloak of night a promise they could afford to rely on to effectively become nothing more than faded shadows to their pursuers – that is, if the anchor would lie dormant…

Coming to the top of a hill, Cole suddenly released his grip on her hand and fell forward, tumbling down the other side like a rag doll. Racing after him in horror, Lavellan checked the young man over for wounds to his body, and found an ugly, deep score across his back where one of the foul creatures had landed a brutal hit. In the heat of battle, he must not have taken much stock in it at the time; by the groaning he made now, it was apparent he'd noticed it at last. Looking around in desperation, she found that the next hill sported a dank cave at its base and swiftly decided they would huddle there until the search had died down.

Throwing Cole's arm over her shoulders, she hauled him to the base of the hill, each step slow and agonising for the both of them. It was a macabre sort of dance they performed, clinging to one another for support. They must have looked like two people who had forgotten how to walk. _Step, drag, step, drag, step, step, drag_.

The walk cycle repeated this way until they finally reached the mouth of the cave, gasping for breath, but desperate to keep all noise to a minimum. Sitting him up against the hill carefully, she wandered a few steps into the cave, casting a glow over the area with her staff. It had once been a spider's nest, but thankfully it had been long since abandoned like the rest of the cursed area. The cave was small and didn't lead to anywhere beyond the space she stood in. If they were found here, there would be nowhere to run, but they didn't have much choice, now.

Lavellan propped her staff against the wall and darted back out into the open, hooking Cole under his arms and dragging him into the darkness of the cave. Setting the pack down, she immediately set out to remove Cole's tunic and leathers from his upper body. The last thing they needed with a gash like that was for any of that black, rotten darkspawn blood to seep into the wound and infect him with the Blight. Whether embodied spirits could actually become infected and turn was not an experiment she wished to perform, nor was it a risk she was willing to take.

Cole sat up and helped her remove the items of clothing in a daze, apparently understanding her thought process. There wouldn't be any water nearby that she could reach to wash his leathers, but they had a bit of drinking water left that she could use to clean the wound and make a poultice with onions and elfroot.

"It doesn't need much," Cole interrupted her thoughts. "I can heal most of it myself, but I should still clean it… just in case."

"If you're sure," she hesitated, grabbing the kettle and Cole's waterskin. Lavellan nudged Cole until he laid flat on the cold, impacted dirt of the cave floor, gently pouring water over his back. "Sorry, Dorian, I'll have to take a rain check on our morning tea," she mumbled, concentrating on making sure she didn't accidentally wash blood into the wound by mistake. The skin pulled tight from the chill and curled up slightly at the edges, exposing musculature beneath the surface that made her wince in sympathy pain. Cole barely reacted to this, other than to appear stiff and tired. Whatever he had to do to heal, his body needed to remain still for it, for a time.

Silently electing herself to take first watch, she wrapped Cole in the fine red draping cloak that had once belonged to the Commander, placing the fur pauldrons beneath his head to cushion him from the hard, cold ground. She sat close to him protectively, holding the anchor against her chest as its power flared in her hand, her staff over her lap in case any creature was fool enough to come looking for them within.

She received no warning of anything amiss before she blacked out.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

Another bought of nausea hit her like a massive ocean wave tossing her haphazardly to shore as it lapped against the lining of her stomach. She felt overheated and dizzy as she lay sprawled out on the floor of Creators knew where, the wind knocked out of her. Moving a hand to her abdomen, she brought her knees up and turned on her side, a sickly groan escaping her throat.

It was then that she noticed the man sitting next to her, his feet tucked under him with her hand neatly displayed palm upward on his thigh.

Startled, she jolted slightly and rolled onto her back once more, her breath quickening in her chest to match her pounding heart. The sensation left her feeling violently ill, and she involuntarily elicited a loud whimper. She attempted to ask where she was at present, but panic ebbed at her resolve and left her unwilling to give voice to her questions.

In that moment, the anchor pulsed to life and the crackling energy caused her hand to shake and convulse from the shock.

He didn't so much hold the offending hand in a comforting display of proper bedside manner as bring it up close to aid further study. A green glow illuminated his face, highlighting a worry line etched deeply between his brows. With cautious intrigue, his eyes narrowed as he conducted little experiments, gauging an approximate estimation of the power within her hand. First, he spread her fingers wide, testing her muscles and tendons on whether they were seizing or contracting due to the shock waves themselves or some other cause. The man licked his full lips thoughtfully before tentatively using his small finger to touch the centre of the mark. He found her flesh reassuringly solid there and, upon discovering no pain to himself and his finger still attached, rubbed his thumbs roughly across the surface of her hand, searching for something.

Protectively, she pulled away from his grasp and turned her back to him. The power was intensifying and coursing through her body, creating an unsettling, deafening roar in her ears, like a distant choir screaming sharp chords ominously. She curled on the hard floor and felt herself drifting in and out of consciousness again as a low thrumming began to crescendo within her.

She couldn't make out what he was saying. His words were low, soft, gentle, and about as non-threatening as anyone could hope for in her situation, but they still held a subtle, stern note of authority. She could only make out the occasional word as it echoed through the chamber.

"Are… _da'len_?"

It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. Her breath quickened in her lungs again, and she suddenly felt like helpless prey as anxious thoughts raced through her mind. Where was she? How did she get here? What was happening to her?

"I… harm you."

Summoning an ounce of bravery, she slowly turned herself enough to peer over her trembling shoulder at him. He was an elf like her, though that was all she was able to gather in the shadows. "What?" Her dry mouth croaked. She barely sounded like anything more than a dying animal to her own ears.

His slow response was no easier to understand: "…I need…trust…harm…sorry."

Her eyes rolled up into her skull as an unseen wall of fire slammed her down, arching her back dangerously. She felt her body being forcefully rolled over, though she couldn't tell which way. It was as if she'd been cast blindly into a deep bath of boiling water, unable to distinguish which way led to the surface. She felt her life floating away as the muffled, deep voice began to crack with strain as it peppered her with questions she could barely decipher. The mark pulsed and engulfed her, veil-green energy penetrating her vision, and without warning, the fiery sensation was blasted back with a pale blue light, like a strong breeze pushing back heavy, black curtains.

This must be what it was to die.

She'd never known such peace before.

And, closing her eyes, she let it take her home.


	12. Chapter 12

Cole heard rather than saw Lavellan collapse against the wall of the cave behind him. Startled and questing outward, he could detect nothing alarming about her condition other than the fact that she'd fallen immediately into a deep sleep without warning. She must have been tired for that to have occurred… Unless, of course, she passed out from the pain in her arm, which was probably what had most likely happened, on second thought.

Attempting to get a better look at her, he winced at the sharp sting from the laceration that cut diagonally across his back. Deciding against further disturbing the drying wound, he sighed loudly in resignation, his head relaxing against the cool, impacted dirt. She wasn't dead, at least; he could take comfort in that fact until he could move properly again.

The clanking of heavily armoured boots scratched gratingly nearby. Cole's eyes shot open in the dim light, and any thoughts he'd previously entertained about keeping still evaporated in a brief panic, the cold stone in his gut overpowering the splitting of his inflamed skin. If he didn't act, he'd have worse wounds to worry about.

"Lavellan," he whispered hoarsely, shoving her leg with a boot. "Come this way… Lavellan?"

Not only did she not move, but whatever creature was lurking outside the cave had caught his voice and was striding toward the dark entrance with a sinister purpose.

Grunting internally, he turned his head and spotted her glowing green hand in his peripheral vision, and he arched himself sideways to reach for her. His tendons stretched and cramped, fingers grasping at empty air as he inched closer and closer to her. The breath squeezed out of him, he pulled away slightly and threw his weight toward her, finally gripping her hand in his. It was just in the nick of time as well, for as Cole vanished with Lavellan in tow, the towering silhouette of a hurlock blocked the faint light of dusk at the cave entrance. It peered into the darkness, its inhuman yellow eyes slanted and intimidating. Cole didn't dare breathe as he felt his heart hammering in his chest. He all but prayed that his unconscious friend not make a sound and give them away.

As the menacing darkspawn crept further into their hideaway, he had to will himself not to involuntarily squeeze Lavellan's hand in fear, lest he risk waking her. In that moment, the creature made direct eye contact with him, staring with rancour into the shadowy corner where he lay motionless and vulnerable. Cole glared back, very nearly standing and taking the creature out before it could locate him to attack, but he rationalised that there was a strong chance the rest of the horde would be alerted to their presence if it were to die, no matter how quickly or quietly Cole disposed of it. As had been the case with the King's Royal Guard, killing would only serve to worsen their situation, and he was grateful he had learned that lesson when he did.

He resolved quietly to close his eyes and calm himself, focusing on the slowing of his own heart. Perhaps the tainted monster could smell his fear, and it was only a matter of willpower to remain undetected. As his tensed muscles began to relax, he felt a small trickle of blood run out of his nose and over his face, and he resisted the instinct to wipe it away with a hand. Cole started to shiver from the effort of keeping his walls raised for as long as he would have need to, though if the standoff wasn't over soon, he would be in danger of losing focus. If the creature could smell his blood, whether from his gash or his head, it would all be for naught, anyway.

With a guttural rattle deep in its throat, the darkspawn turned around in frustration and walked out of the cave, glancing from right to left before it retrieved a great horn from its belt and blew a low, teeth-rattling note. For an instant's fright, Cole was certain they had been discovered, and that the others were being signalled their location, but the massive hurlock walked out of view to the right, heading back for the deadened forests of the Korcari Wilds. The search was over, at least for the night.

Shuddering out a sigh of relief, Cole hauled Lavellan's dead weight toward him as he lay face down, dragging her by the arm and robes to lay next to him. When this elicited no reaction from her whatsoever, he placed a hand on her forehead and concentrated, searching her mind anxiously for signs of life. She was still there, though for the moment it was fragmented and weak. It seemed she had blacked out entirely unexpectedly. Had she suffered a head wound during the battle? He hadn't noticed any come near her at the time, but she could have been struck by a poisoned arrow at some point, and he would have been unaware if she said nothing of it. Still, she wasn't dying, and he could have cried from the relief that offered him; he hugged Lavellan's body with one arm as he remained face down on the floor. They weren't out of the woods, yet, so to speak; they still needed to wait for the all-clear, or they would be heard again in their meagre shelter.

Needless to say, it took him by complete surprise when she began to convulse next to him. He gasped as the anchor flared and crackled threateningly, spreading up her arm like lamp oil igniting on the ground. Not knowing what to do for her, he hauled himself up on an elbow and pushed the fur pauldrons of the red cloak beneath her head to stop the cringe-inducing sound her skull was making against the floor. Hushing her reassuringly, he then turned her on her side to better comfort her, sending waves of calm and compassion over her form.

"Bunny," he uttered, his voice small and pleading, "please be quiet. Be a good girl… That's it…" He shushed her gently, petting her dusty blonde hair as his mind cast back to another place in the dark, another time when hiding from the dangers outside with a little blonde girl had been his only means of survival.

"Hush, Bunny, don't cry," he whispered, closing his eyes in exhaustion, "I'll protect you, now. You're being very good… It's going to be okay."

As Lavellan's convulsions eventually subsided and she lapsed into a state of limp unconsciousness, Cole took his hand from her hair and placed it on her forehead, searching yet again for signs of life.

He blinked once, then twice, and on the third blink, his eyes refused to open again. For the first time in as far back as he could remember, Cole fell asleep against her shoulder, his mind still reaching out to cling desperately on to his only friend left in the world.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

The Fade was familiar. Comfortable. Preferable. He breathed deeply and sighed, his eyes closed in silent meditation.

One of the interesting aspects about this realm for him was how it always changed, yet no matter where he went, it felt like home. Here he was known by his true spirit and had no use for names at all, real or fake, for no one feared him. They could see him for who he was, and he couldn't disguise himself from them even had he wanted to. Here, he was their equal, and walked among them as a trusted friend and valued ally. No matter what changed about the realm of spirits from location to location, the fact that there was no need to hide, as a wolf in sheep's clothing, gave him peace of mind when he most needed it.

Spirits drifted about him in a ghost-like, eternally wandering state, all of them the friendly faces he'd encountered over the many years spent seeking out their hidden knowledge. They'd all assisted in their own way to help him become a more well-rounded individual, to calm the frustrations of the young man he'd once been, and with advice from those such as Wisdom, Justice, Purpose, and Faith, he'd matured, learning to turn his righteous anger into a more manageable, less corruptible emotion, into a tool that would fuel him toward his goal, which they found admirable and supported wholeheartedly.

But something was different about the Fade today. It hung overhead like a dark cloud, not yet unleashing its storm, but visible and threatening, nonetheless. This strange state of things made it difficult to concentrate on centring himself. Clearing his throat, he settled and tried again, pushing the negativity away for now.

"Wanderer," he heard the light, floaty voice over his right shoulder exclaim softly, "it is good to see you among us again."

Turning, he came face to face with a spirit in the form of a beautiful human woman bathed in a stunning, translucent, watery hue, smiling with her lightning blue eye sockets. Slight cracks in the face of the form she chose shone brilliantly, the light of her pure spirit shining through her uncorrupted features. Normally, he referred to spirits as having no gender, being that virtues did not belong exclusively to either sex, but this particular spirit, considering the form she chose for herself, had been and always would be a female. Her headdress covered her deep blue hair, draping over cloth-like pauldrons and complimenting the decorative, armoured robes that brushed the ground lightly at her feet. She looked just the same as always.

"Hope," he smiled softly, rising to his feet and bowing low to her in respect. "It's good to see you are well! With the breach, I had feared the worst… I was occupied elsewhere, helping to repair the damage done for a brief period, but I shall endeavour not to stay away so long between visits in the future."

The Spirit of Hope held her glowing staff at her side, a light flashing in her eyes. "The fault was not yours, but mine. I was driven away by the rifts, and I took as many spirits as I could in my wake. I trust you were able to manage without my counsel… Whether it has been a short spell or an extended period, I do not know. You are already aware there is no time here, friend. I am only pleased you have returned to us safely. The mortal world is a dangerous, confusing place."

"Indeed it is," he smirked, his heart sinking with thoughts of the waking world.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and though he could not feel physical contact with the spirit, the implication in her gesture was comfort enough. "You seem heavier of mind, dream walker," Hope observed, a look of slight concern and sympathy written in the glowing lines of her face. "I sense another spirit in your midst. Have you taken one of us within you to experience the other side of the Veil?"

He shook his head, meeting her eyes. "No, Hope, it is of no concern; this spirit is another such as me."

Smiling, Hope pat his shoulder before taking her hand away, and held the staff with two hands as it stuck in the soft earth beneath their feet, leaning gently on it. "There are no other spirits such as you, old friend."

Chuckling, he winked at her and lowered his eyes. "I knew there was a reason I'd missed you," he replied.

"In any case," she said seriously, "I hope it does not pain you overmuch."

"In all honesty, it was a struggle at first," he admitted quietly. "I lost a close friend in order to obtain the spirit, but I am coming to terms with it. Thank you for your concern. It is good to be back, at least." His face took on an expression of thoughtful confusion, brows furrowing as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Though now that I'm reminded of it, something feels… darker, this time. Has the breach done some sort of damage to this area of the Fade?"

Her eyes lit up at a thought. "Ah, perhaps you can be of some assistance," she mused. "It is convenient you arrived when you did, wanderer. We have been experiencing great difficulty reclaiming one of our own. The spirit seems to have been trapped on the other side of the Veil for too long and has become confused. We do not know how long it has been away from us, of course, as it is resisting our efforts to communicate, but the length of the separation seems to have driven it quite mad. You may have a better chance at it than us, though, as it speaks of things we cannot comprehend."

Something in her news struck him at his core, making him apprehensive and intensely worried. "What do you mean, Hope?" He asked warily, "What spirit has returned to you this day?"

He knew she was sensing the shift within him. The tremors passing through him may as well be manifesting in bolts of lightning from his eyes based on her reaction. "Is something amiss, dreamer? What has come over you?"

He closed his eyes and mustered enough calm to stunt the growth of the pit of anxiety inside him. "My dear friend, I believe I might know this spirit. I sincerely hope I'm mistaken, but if not, I must go to it. If you could but tell me what virtue you believe it to embody, I would be grateful…"

She nodded in understanding. "I am glad to hear it. You may be able to help our friend see reason. I am certain we are dealing with a Spirit of Compassion. It insists that it has business to return to across the Veil, but – "

Before the Spirit of Hope could explain further, he took off like a shot out of a cannon in the direction of the disturbance, heedless of the expanding darkness as he drew closer to the terrified spirit.

There was only one Spirit of Compassion that he knew to be outside the Fade, but for the spirit's sake, he sincerely hoped he was wrong.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

"No! Please, go away! Get back or I _swear_ I will kill you!"

Cole had climbed high up a lone, leafless tree, the spirits below him glimmering blue and red, staring up at him curiously and wondering what he hoped to accomplish with this method of escape. He knew they didn't have to obey physical laws, and could just as easily float up to him and pull him down, but thankfully, these particular spirits weren't feeling that malevolent at present. They were content, for now, to wait for him to come down on his own.

"They'll be waiting a long time," he muttered defiantly to himself, reaching up to take hold of the next branch.

His identity began slipping from him yet again and he shook his head fiercely, trying to dissolve the mist in his mind. "No," he fought the darkness, feeling the mental tugs downward toward the spirits below him, their hands upon him as they tried to ease him back down to the nothingness. "You won't make me forget who I am!"

Their whispers carried up to him, the languages merging into rasps, murmurs and mumbles. All of them urging him downward.

"I am Cole" he shouted down at them. "I am me! I heal the hurt, save the small! You can't take me back! I'm real, and I don't belong here anymore! Leave me alone!"

" _Cole!_ "

A jolt of recognition shot through him at the frantic call of his name, and he looked down from his ascent in time to see a familiar figure cutting a path quickly through the gathering of apparitions, both of their faces meeting, mirroring shock and disbelief.

" _Solas?_ " Cole cried out incredulously. "Is it really _you_?"

Solas placed his hands on his hips and stared at him, not the least bit strained by the sharp angle upward. "Cole, come down from there! You won't come to any harm; these are my friends!"

Cole felt the joyful tears spill from his eyes immediately, and choked a laugh out. Then without warning, he leaped from the tree and fell directly on Solas.

The surprised elf caught Cole with a loud _oof!_ and promptly fell on his back in the grass. The entire area took on a new air of springtime and sunshine, the darkness scattering in a flash. Grabbing his friend's pained face, Cole studied his features and let out an exuberant cry as he threw his hands around him and embraced him breathlessly. "It _is_ you, Solas! You're _alive_! I-I've been trying to contact you! I'm so happy to see you here!"

"I wish I could say the same," Solas said sternly, sitting up and pushing himself off the ground to stand once more. Cole followed suit, still grinning excitedly. "Cole, what in the world are you _doing_ here?"

Cole's smile faded somewhat as he cast his eyes about, searching and finding his favoured hat. He held it in front of him defensively, returning the question. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I asked first," Solas pointed out, his finger raised in warning.

"I asked second."

Frowning, his friend shook his head slightly in confusion and dropped what he was going to say, though he heard it, regardless; everything was much louder in the Fade. Cole didn't think his hat would fit there. Why had he thought of that, of all things?

Turning to the spirits, Solas gestured with a finger toward Cole and explained, "Everything is all right, now, friends. I know this Spirit of Compassion. I'll take over from here; thank you for your concern." He grabbed Cole by the collar and hauled him a short distance away, the ghostly crowd of spirits immediately dispersing to seek out other curiosities. More dreamers would arrive soon, and that ought to occupy them for a time.

At the top of a grassy, overgrown hill, Solas turned to him, his hands gripping the lanky, fair-haired spirit boy firmly on his upper arms. "Cole, you've done a great deal of damage by coming here like this. This is the last time, and then I am not going to repeat myself again: _What are you doing here?_ "

"I don't know! I'm telling the truth!"

"Are you starting to forget, already? Did you try to slip back across to find me, Cole? Because you've managed to get it wrong somehow and trap yourself here. You're lucky I was nearby, or you would have gone _insane_ and destroyed this entire area! That was an _utterly foolish_ thing to do," Solas admonished him. "I _explicitly_ told you to _stay away_ , that you couldn't follow me on the path I am on! I insisted you _forget_ about contacting me! Why didn't you listen, hmm?"

Cole looked thoroughly bewildered. "How could I remember not to contact you if you made me forget after telling me?"

Solas opened his mouth to retort, but his words faltered in his throat as his brown brows shot up in surprise. "I hadn't considered that," he admitted, slightly amused at this ironic turn. "An excellent point… I'm sorry, I… thought you had crossed over to locate me in spite of my wishes. I'm just glad you're safe, but we need to get you back."

Shaking his head earnestly, Cole replied haltingly, "I-I-I really didn't mean to come here… I'm not even sure… how it happened."

Arching a brow, Solas let go of his arms and sighed heavily, walking a few steps away and staring into the distance. "What were you doing before you came here? I cannot fathom how you even _arrived_ here this way. You aren't fully present, like the other spirits, which is why you're disturbing this area exceedingly. You are a spirit in the Fade as a _dreamer_ , but you _can't sleep_ , Cole. What is going on out there?"

"Oh," Cole said, clarity coming to him. "Then it must have been Lavellan's mind that I…" The voiced thought died on his lips as he stared wide-eyed at Solas, who had spun around in total shock.

" _Lavellan_ is here?" He asked, something like frustrated panic overcoming him. "And you, what, fused with her mind?! Did she pull you in after her as she slept? What were you doing in her mind to begin with? What – _What_ – " Solas had far too many questions, and as they tumbled out of his mouth, he realised that he didn't particularly want the answers to any of them. "Never mind. Don't tell me… Her business is none of my concern, anymore."

"No," Cole said, suddenly finding his voice and striking back, "this _should_ matter to you. I have been trying to get hold of you for weeks - seeking, searching, stressful, and you haven't answered me. I thought you were hurt, so I reached out in case you needed me."

Solas shook his head, denying the offer of help. "I don't need your assistance, Cole. This path is mine to walk alone, forever. I would not want anyone following me – "

Cole stopped him before he could continue his speech. "No, you don't understand," he said insistently. "This isn't _about_ you. It's about Lavellan."

Cole felt Solas' mind harden against hearing anything more, but there was a small crack where he was breaking to hear any news. "You made yourself a stone, but she became the water. Why do you -"

"I don't need you to analyse me, Cole," he interrupted, turning his head away to avoid his friend's sad eyes. "That is in the past now, and leaving it there is for the best."

"You never abandon anything to the past," he muttered quietly. "Why is she different?"

Solas narrowed his eyes at the perfectly valid observation, knowing Cole had stumped him, but refusing to acknowledge it. "It would be better in the long run if I were to have nothing more to do with her. What will soon come to pass will be difficult for her to accept of me… We should get you through the Veil. Prepare yourself; I've never done this to a spirit before, so I am not - "

" _Wait!_ " Cole backed away a step, refusing to be flung aside so easily. "You _can't_ just walk away from us – from _her_! Not after what you did! She suffers because of you, and to leave her, listless, lost, losing life – You wouldn't be the Solas I know."

There was a long pause as the chasm between them expanded, growing dark from the feelings of frustration and betrayal. "I never was 'Solas', Cole. You know this – you've always known this! Solas was simply a moniker, a reminder of all I had left in this world."

"Yes, your _pride_ ," Cole spat coldly. "Pride is foolish, stubborn, denies the truth to preserve itself, even when confronted. Is that really all that was left to you?"

"Pride is what allows me to preserve what once was, and gives me the strength I need to restore it!" His anger was increasing with each exchange, and Cole felt his friend pulling away further.

"Pride is a _demon_ , Solas…"

He threw his hands up in enraged dismissal, pacing the length of the hilltop. " _Nothing_ ever follows such rigid lines! Everyone would _love_ for the world to be simplistic, wouldn't they? Black and white, right and wrong, good and evil! Such classifications are for those that lack the intellectual rigour to truly examine the issues as they arise – "

"Lavellan is dying."

His rant interrupted, Solas came to a dead halt and met Cole's eyes in annoyance before he glanced away and opened his mouth to carry on. Then he looked back, a flash of horrified realisation darting behind his wide eyes as he finally heard his words. "What…What do you mean, 'dying'?"

" _Please don't let it be true. Let the spirit be mistaken. It's the mark on her hand, isn't it?_ Fenedhis, _I knew this would happen! My mistakes kill everything I ever loved, and I can't –_ " The spark that was the stream of thoughts from Solas' screaming mind were instantly silenced, protected and darkened once again behind the mask he wore to hide his true self. "You took it away," Cole cried out in surprise. "It's gone!"

"It seems I still must protect myself, even here… Even from those I once cared for," he said guardedly. "I'm sorry I had to do that, Cole. You shouldn't have been allowed to see that, but you… startled me for a moment." He rubbed his neck with one hand, casting his eyes downward, lost in thought. "Is it truly the mark, then?" He asked, his tone low and grave.

"The anchor spills like acid over her arm and agonises her… I think it's the reason I'm here. We were running from something – I can't remember what it was. The darkness pulls at me, here, makes me forget things I shouldn't. We were hiding, and I was injured somehow… She was supposed to take first watch, but she… fell over…" He lifted his head to meet his friend's face only to discover his features were blank and unreadable, straining with the effort to remain so.

"I reached out to her, just to help her," he continued. "She was… floppy. Like a fish trying to jump back into water. Then she stopped, and I…" Cole put his hand to the top of his hat, as if doing so would jog his memory, but he gave up when he found it wasn't coming back to him. "I don't know. I slipped across the Veil, that's all I know for certain. It was thin where we were; that probably had something to do with what happened."

Sighing, Solas ran a hand over his scalp and turned around, walking away. He made it so far along that Cole was forced to come after him, not knowing what was transpiring. "Solas," he called out as the distance between them grew, "where are you going?"

Upon receiving no answer and unable to read him, Cole glowered, angry he was being shut off once again. With a thought, Cole vanished and instantly reappeared in front of Solas. "You _cannot_ ignore me like you have since you left me! I'm _here_ , now."

"There is nothing I can do for her," Solas informed him forcefully, a hint of sorrow in the back of his throat. "And you should not be here with me when you are clearly needed elsewhere. I am sorry, but you must leave, now."

Cole seemed to be everywhere at once. Wherever Solas turned, Cole appeared before him to block his path in a puff of smoke. "It was _your_ orb that scarred her!" _Puff!_ "It's _your_ magic that rooted in her hand!" _Puff!_ "You kept her alive, you helped her turn the key and lock the monsters out, and you are the _only_ one that can save her! I know it!"

"I cannot help her, Cole! Please, try to understand…"

He stood before the elf, so old and full of more wisdom than anyone alive could claim. What was wisdom, though, if one was unwilling to share it with others, or use it themselves? "You cannot, or you will not?"

His eyes steeling, Solas' jaw set in determination for a moment. After swallowing with difficulty, he responded, void of all emotion, "Either way produces the same result."

Cole stared at him hard for a long pause, knowing with all certainty that the man that stood before him had changed, possibly irreparably. " _Fine_ ," he breathed decisively, "then I will do something about it, and trust me when I say I'll do what's needed to save her."

The mask faltering with wariness for a split second, Solas hesitated for a breath before asking, "What… do you plan to do?"

"The way I see it," Cole calculated, "I can do what Rhys' mother did for Evangeline: reach out to her in death, and enter her body to restore her. I did that for Cole, once, but it had a… different result. The real Cole was lost to me. But I know what I did wrong, and I've seen it done the right way. I wouldn't exist anymore, but she would still be alive."

"You _cannot_ be serious!"

"Or, I can do what I did before I knew my true nature," he continued, undaunted, "and offer to kill her. I can make it quick. She wouldn't feel it for long, and it would all be over. No more flopping, no more fire. She deserves not to suffer."

Solas reeled back, sickened. This was all too real for him, now. "Cole, you cannot kill her!"

"Yes I can! Why shouldn't I?"

"Because you would _despair_! It wouldn't be right for you to be forced to make the killing blow, not when it wasn't…" His mind darkened again and he stilled his anxious movements, clinically evaluating the situation for what it was. After closing his eyes and nodding an almost undetectable movement to himself, he turned to Cole, a marked change behind his eyes.

"I will help you on one condition," he bargained, his voice lowered. "You must meet with me, hand her over, and entrust her to my care. You will leave her behind, never come back, and not contact either of us, ever again. Do we have a deal?"

Cole searched Solas carefully, picking over him for any stray thoughts, but found him completely closed off. Something wasn't right. "I don't know if it's the Fade muddying my mind, or if you're shutting me out again," he started cautiously, "but I can't read you anymore, and it scares me…"

Solas gestured quickly, indicating himself with the wave of a hand. "Do you not trust me?" He asked as casually as he could manage, though it only went to further the image of callous disregard Cole was building in his mind.

"No, I don't," he admitted, not startling Solas in the slightest.

" _Ma emma harel_ ," the elf muttered. In a clearer tone, he concluded, "There is still time left before the end. Make her comfortable. Keep her company. Enjoy her while you still can." He started off again in the direction he'd taken before.

Cole turned to look after him, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Does that mean you're not going to help us?" He asked, his outrage from earlier replaced now with bitter disappointment.

Solas met his eyes once more, his brows turning upward at the corners in sadness. "I have some errands to carry out, first. After that… We shall see what little I can do."

Cole nodded coldly, remembering Lavellan's doubt that morning over Solas. "She was right, then..." At least the man now knew, though, and he couldn't continue ignoring the situation. "The next time I contact you will be to tell you when I'm nearing the end of what I can do for her. If I don't hear from you, or if you refuse to answer me," Cole warned angrily, "then I _will_ choose a path for her to spare her further pain. Either way, one of us is going to die."

A sombre understanding passed between them, their pale blue eyes staring into one another for a final time, one pair narrowed by shielded hurt, the other large and wide with a desolate hopefulness. "Then I will answer you as soon as I am able. Don't do anything rash or heroic," Solas cautioned him, walking back up to Cole.

He held his hands out in front of him, a hollow smile turning one side of his mouth up. "Until then, old friend, I must ask that you… _wake up_."

And with a gasp, Cole was gone.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

He had to see for himself.

The full impact of what Cole had revealed had not hit him until he had completely vanished. There was some comfort in knowing that the young spirit was now back in the right place and time to care for her properly, but as soon as he was alone again, he headed in the direction he'd been trying to take for the length of the confrontation, willing himself not to break into a desperate sprint for the disturbance he could now sense so clearly that he didn't understand how he had overlooked it before.

Clouds darkened overhead, and for a time he was unsure whether it was because he was passing into a nightmare, or because he had subconsciously summoned them with his current state of mind. Either way mattered very little, but it served to set the proper mood, at least.

Just then, a burst of green energy shot from the ground in the near distance high into the sky, stirring the storm clouds and mountainous boulders overhead as it passed through.

He would have recognised that beam anywhere.

There was no use pretending he wasn't inwardly panicking. With an alarmed expression, he ran over the hilly grounds toward the beam, feeling the heart that wasn't truly there pound fiercely in his chest. It was in all actuality his sleeping body that experienced such things for him and he felt the echo of it here. He'd always wanted to tell Lavellan that, knowing the thought had crossed her mind more than once, but he had never found the opportunity to tell her. So many things had been left unsaid, so many regrets plagued his memories…

As he made his way to the top of the last hill, he came to a dead stop, the breath knocked out of him as he stared down at the unexpected scene. Her dream was open for all to see, no spirit conjuring it for her… The dream painted itself somehow of its own accord. She appeared to be sleeping, the mark on her hand having claimed most of her arm, pulsing with swirling energy from his orb, the beam surging high into the sky. Unwittingly, she was manipulating the Fade with the anchor. It was a wonder to behold, both fascinating and frightening all at once.

The most shocking thing about it all, though, was that she was not alone. Curled around her protectively was the unnaturally large, black-coated body of a powerful wolf, its many eyes glowing red as it watched over her.

The Great Wolf from her nightmare.

He fell to his knees, heart skipping a few beats in his chest as he looked on breathlessly. He felt the trace of a tear trickle out the far corner of his eye, staring in incredulity at the display before him. When had this occurred, and for how long? Had she lost the fear of her nightmare and turned the Wolf into her ally? It seemed so unreal. A small, disbelieving laugh escaped his lips as he clasped a hand over his mouth, falling the rest of the way to sit for a while and observe this unexpected turn of events.

Voices echoed through the small valley below, people from her past returning in her mind to repeat formerly innocuous phrases that had seemed innocent enough to her at the time, but were now terrible, early indicators of what was now ending her life.

_Solas, bright and sad, observes and accepts, spirit self, seeking the soul, Solas, but somehow sorrows…_

_I theorised the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the breach's wake—And it seems I was correct._

_You might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I've written enough tragedies to recognise where this is going…_

_Each time the breach expands, your mark spreads… And it is killing you._

He could listen no more to the swirling memories pouring from her, as they proved to be prophetic from the very beginning. Each time the Inquisitor had used the mark to alter the Fade by closing a rift or sealing the breach, it had stabilised the anchor. But that power within her recharged over time, and without an orb to contain it, it would degenerate and become unstable. It needed to be drained from her by closing the breach, or even rifts in the Veil. If it was not, it would continue to build up and expand… until it finally overcame her entirely.

But there were no more rifts to close; they'd been thorough in their efforts. The anchor had nowhere to go. It would inevitably consume her.

He felt the air cool noticeably beside him, and though he didn't turn his head, he easily spotted the blue glow settling next to him on the hillside. "This area is devoid of all hope, wanderer," she said in her sing-song tone. "I came to rectify that."

"There is not much one can do," he informed her gravely. "I've determined that this woman will expire slowly from a curse that I myself have brought upon her. What's done is done… You cannot change the past, Hope."

"You are correct, I cannot alter it," she agreed, her words flowing like water in a stream. "I'm not at all certain I comprehend what is meant by the term 'past', but nevertheless, as I cannot understand it, neither can I manipulate it. Still, there are solutions to every conceivable problem, wanderer… One must only look long enough to find them, and never give in to fear or despair."

He chuckled ruefully to himself, his arms crossed and resting on his knees as he stared down at his footwraps. "I should have known you would say something along those lines…"

"Is it not true?" She wondered, looking at him with her eyes of cracked ice.

He paused for a long moment, frowning and lifting his head as he breathed deeply, and stared down at the Wolf formerly of only nightmares as it curled around her still form tightly. "She will die, like all the others, and I will grieve for her up until and when the time comes… The Spirit of Compassion wishes to end her suffering, but it is too closely attached to her… Either decision by the spirit leaves it an abomination or a demon, and I would therefore lose them both… I cannot allow Compassion to strike the euthanising blow that should by all rights be my responsibility, but… I do not know if I can do it, either…"

Hope rose to glide before him on the hill, meeting his eyes head-on. "I believe you know in your heart the right course of action. You simply have to be patient and let it come to your mind naturally… This woman is without hope almost entirely; a heavy darkness weighs on her. It drains hope from you, as well, dream walker, and disrupts your ability to see the light before you. I would not be able to call myself a Spirit of Hope if I did not fight with all I had to restore that which was lost to you both, my friend… Look for the answer within yourself… _Trust_."

With her trigger word uttered, she departed from him, concluding their conversation as she faded from view. His thoughts felt cleansed of the darkness that had threatened to overwhelm him, previously clouding his mind, and ideas and options sprang up anew. He felt rejuvenated, and looked upon the scene below once more with fresh eyes.

Lavellan had trusted the wolf not to harm her, and it hadn't; it had become a friend, a reliable protector of her. But she had trusted him as well, and he had robbed her of much happiness, and now, her very life. After all he had put her through, it did not seem fair to abandon her now. He might be able to afford a brief respite before continuing with his plans, at least long enough to say goodbye properly.

Suppose there was a way to atone for the wrongs he had committed against her… Maybe he could make her final days a little more meaningful, as well, restoring some of her lost hope…

Perhaps, also, she deserved to know the truth before the end.


	13. Chapter 13

The Chantry claims that the elves were a violent, antagonistic, and blasphemous People. It is common knowledge amongst Andrastians that after the elven race was graciously allotted Halamshiral and the Dales in easten Orlais following their alliance with the Prophet Andraste, their rejection of the Maker and isolationist culture caused tensions to mount with neighbouring human settlements. Their poor relations finally culminated in a localised attack on a village known as Red Crossing, reportedly led by a small raiding party of elves, forcing the Chantry's hand.

Thus began the Exalted March of the Dales, a religious and political crusade for the conquering of the land bestowed unto the elves, resulting in the utter destruction of the _Elvhenan_ and what little had remained of their tarnished culture after generations of enslavement under the Tevinter Imperium. Few stragglers survived, and those that did either fled to the forests and founded the first known Dalish tribes, or found themselves destitute, hungry, and defeated in spirit, seeking refuge within human cities. The latter were segregated to communities known as alienages, and there, the city elves, as they were dubbed, were kept apart from the humans in ghettos. Even the poorest of humans spat on them if they ever laid eyes on them, calling them vermin and heretical scum.

Legend states that each tree growing in the Emerald Graves memorialises an elf who lost their life in the battles to preserve the Dales. When considering the breathtakingly vast forest covers the entire region, often making it difficult to travel in large groups for all the densely-packed trees, the scale of death becomes heartbreakingly apparent. If the legend is at all true, it is devastatingly easy to imagine the magnitude of life lost, to the point that the tongue forms the word "genocide" of its own accord, as if the souls haunting the area demand the events be recognised for what they truly were.

Whether the recounting of the events leading up to the Exalted March of the Dales is factual or Chantry propaganda has been the speculation of scholars for centuries. With the human religion controlling, suppressing, and funding researchers and historians, it is difficult to speculate how much of recorded history has been altered to fit their views, and how much has been conveniently burned or lost throughout the Ages that would have shed a different, more incriminating light on the Chantry. As they say, the history texts are written by the victors, and the elves did not come away victorious by any stretch of the imagination.

Surely, the only meagre victory they could ever claim was their continued survival.

_We are the last of the Elvhenan._

_Never again shall we submit._

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

Cole and Lavellan made a modest home for themselves in an elevated, cosy cave to the north among the _vallasdahlen_ towering overhead as living monuments. They stood like guarding sentinels around the entrance to their comfortable shelter, which was covered in tangled vines that offered protection from the weather and regulated the temperature indoors along with the added bonus of camouflaging their home from passersby. They were not by any means alone in the Emerald Graves, but they were far enough away from other encampments that their presence was often overlooked, and they preferred it that way. Commander Cullen's soldiers kept their distance for the most part, respecting her wish to make her own life. As far as they could tell, the Inquisition seemed completely unaware of Cole's presence, as well. By all outward appearances, it looked as though the former Inquisitor had retired to a quiet life in the lost homeland of her people, completely and utterly alone. It was close enough to the truth that neither of them bothered to correct the record.

They spent their days in idle conversation, sometimes climbing the trees to sit among their strong branches, hidden high from the forest floor in a thicket of leaves. Other times, they would explore their surroundings, memorising the grounds and gathering what little they needed for their stores. As the weeks ticked by, Lavellan was beginning to sleep for longer periods of time, exhaustion weighing down her willowy frame, and she frequently took naps during the day to recover her strength. Luckily, though, she had not experienced any major seizures since their chance encounter with the darkspawn. It was possible that the intense stress had exacerbated her condition, so with that in mind, they looked for ways to stay relaxed and avoided taxing her health further.

Lavellan took up the art of basket weaving that she vaguely recalled her mother teaching her, using pliable twigs from the nearby brush to create containers for everything, from hanging planters full of rare healing herbs, to gathered food, to clothes that needed washing in the stream or mending with needle and thread. Thoroughly interested in this craft, Cole would sit with her and at first created woven versions of creatures he was fond of, including nugs, rabbits, and mabari pups. As his skills grew, his ideas took on a life of their own, becoming more realistic in their shapes and poses, frozen in an act of playfulness or sleep. He created dolls of twig and twine as well, designing little mages holding sticks for staves, and templars with sturdy miniature shields and swords.

When Lavellan slept soundly at night, Cole would sometimes wander away from the cave to leave his creations for soldiers to find on their patrols, knowing they would take them home and give them to their children as gifts from the benevolent spirits of the forest. Lifting the hearts of those that missed their loved ones was a worthwhile way to remain true to his purpose. In return, he was occasionally rewarded for his kindness with blankets, pillows, candles, and even a small bag of marbles, once. He made use of them all around their shelter, but he cherished the marbles the most. There was something about nudging the little glass ball in just the right direction and watching it roll across the stone floor until it collided with the marble he'd set on the other end of the cave. The little click they made as they touched was particularly satisfying, and it gave him something quiet to do while he watched over Lavellan as she slept, nursing her in the event of a flare-up of the anchor.

Unfortunately, there was one major drawback of living in the Emerald Graves: the thin Veil. The bloody history of the land left the curtain between realms ragged and frail. There had come a point in time when Lavellan and Cole had seriously discussed moving elsewhere to avoid the tremors from her mark and the violent echoes he sometimes picked up out of thin air, but in the end, nothing had ever come of it. Silently, they both knew that it wouldn't matter either way, and dropped the issue. She didn't have much longer to live, and the thought of picking up and finding a new home with so little time left seemed pointless. Therefore, they made a life where they were, for however long that may be.

Lavellan sat at the base of one of many wolf statues dotting the forest, dedicated to the close bond her people once shared with the pack animals, a relationship long lost to ancient history. Nowadays, most elves were apprehensive of the wolf, if not outright paranoid due to long ingrained superstitions about Fen'Harel, betrayer of the Creators and the Forgotten Ones alike. Though she did not believe in the old myths any longer, the tales from her childhood still haunted her at odd moments and had sent small shivers down her spine at sight of the stone wolves. So it was that, as often as she could, she had purposefully sought out the statue nearest their home to read beneath its shadow, hang her washing at its feet, or weave quietly to pass the day, determined to lose all traces of her misplaced fear.

On this day, she held in her lap Varric's signed copy of _Hard in Hightown_ , the book's pages still astoundingly fresh after their weathered journey west. Lavellan was taking her time with it, spacing out the passages to make the story last as long as she could, but there were times when she couldn't help herself, anticipating the next chapter too much to wait another week longer.

"I don't understand," Cole pondered from his perch atop the wolf's back, abruptly interrupting her silent progress. "Captain Hendallen wants evidence before she'll sign the warrant, which… is a paper that gives Donnen permission to search the Comte's estate?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes," Lavellan answered, not bothered at all that Cole listened along to the story as she read to herself. "That's generally how the system is supposed to work in most places."

Cole paused in his construction of the large floral crown he was creating for the wolf statue to adorn, peering over the side at her. "What is Donnen searching for?"

"Evidence of the crime," Lavellan answered, studying the accompanying illustration absently, which depicted two human guards silhouetted in an arched doorway, peering into a blackened room.

"So," Cole pieced together slowly, "Donnen and Jevlan have to show the captain evidence so that she'll give them a paper that says they can go inside and… look for evidence?" It was easy to see where his confusion lay.

Lavellan rubbed her chin thoughtfully, suppressing her grin. "One assumes they only need just enough evidence to back up their suspicions, and then they can go inside and find more to support an arrest."

"But what if all the evidence is locked up inside? It doesn't make sense… I would go in and find it, anyway. The Comte is bad, isn't he?"

"Well it seems Donnen agrees with you," she replied, skimming the next part further down the page. "He's picking the lock on the door in the alleyway, coming up next."

"Oh," he said, resuming his threading and weaving of the green cuttings. Then he stopped again, peering down at the book in her lap. "If he was going to go in anyway, why did he ask the captain for a warrant?"

"He can't just go inside," Lavellan said, shading her eyes as she looked up at him, the light passing through the trees overhead as they swayed gently in the autumn breeze. "I think that's the point. He tried to do the right thing, and when it didn't go the way he thought it would, he took matters into his own hands."

Cole finished the length of weaving and joined the two ends together as he mused, "I don't see anything wrong with that. Donnen wants to help, and if people get in his way, he has to go around them and do the right thing… I would do the same."

Lavellan scratched her earlobe, the ache in her arm returning as she lifted it without thinking. Wincing, she rubbed her shoulder, feeling fatigue wash over her for the third time today. "Well, he's breaking the law, now, too," she pointed out despite her clenching jaw. "Just because things didn't go according to Donnen's plan doesn't mean he has free reign to disrupt the Comte's life like that. What if the Comte didn't do anything? What if he's innocent in all this? That's why the captain needs more evidence before she can decide if Donnen can go searching for more – in the real world, anyway. This is Varric's imagination we're talking about. I think Dorian called it 'artistic license'."

Rising up on the Wolf's back, Cole picked up one end of the wreath. "So is Donnen good or bad?"

She put the book down next to the wolf's large stone paw and reached out to Cole, who pulled her up in one gentle motion and handed her a length of flowery vine. "Well," Lavellan sighed, careful of her steps as she crept toward the head, "that's the thing about interesting characters… Sometimes they're strong, and sometimes they're weak. They might get their hands dirty, and other times they may do everything by the book. You can have all those things in one character, and it makes them more relatable… more real. Whether or not you like them, you can believe in them."

" _Black and white, right and wrong, good and evil_ ," Cole breathed quietly to himself in a tone not quite his own. " _Such classifications are for those that lack the intellectual rigour to truly examine the issues…_ "

Lavellan shrugged with her one good shoulder. "Something like that," she agreed with a nod. Cole transported in an instant on top of the wolf's head and reached forward to take the wreath from Lavellan's hand as the black smoke from his ghostly appearance cascaded downward and disappeared. As she gave him the length of greenery, she added, "It must be difficult for you to understand, I suppose, given your compassionate nature."

"Not difficult," he amended, "just different. I hear the thoughts of people without them knowing I'm listening, and I've discovered corrupt people that way, before. I observe it, but I don't become a part of it… If _I_ am corrupted, I become a demon, so I try not to do bad or wrong things. But I still make mistakes – like killing the wrong people for the right reasons, or… the right people for the wrong reasons. Maybe my mistakes are the part of me that is still human."

She slid down the wolf's side slowly, cradling her elbow close to her body as she hit the soil and stepped around to admire Cole's handiwork. "It could be," she agreed. "Anyway, Donnen may be doing a bad thing right now, but it doesn't mean he's a bad character. Everyone has reasons for why they choose the actions they take, Cole, even people who do bad things. What's important in the end is that we try to do the least amount of harm possible, and if we end up hurting someone or something along the way, we should put it right, if it's in our power to do so."

Cole sat cross-legged between the ears of the wolf, adding a few more daisies to the crown for good measure. "Do you think you could love a man like that?"

The question caught Lavellan off-guard. She looked up at his calm, blank face, bewildered as to why he would ask such a non-sequitur out of seemingly nowhere. "I… think everyone has loved someone like that at some point, whether they knew of it or not," she answered truthfully. "No one person is perfect, Cole, even if they appear to be – especially if they appear to be, I find. Flaws add experience and character… So, yes, I guess… I think if you're going to love someone, you should love their flaws, as well, because they make that person who they are."

"That's good. I'm glad," Cole replied, his chin resting in his hand, leaning forward on an elbow. "So how does the statue look, now? Is he still scary?"

Lavellan looked at the beast, laying down with his head and ears raised high, staring through the trees as though he heard the sound of prey in the distance. Then she took in the lovely great flower crown and the playful young spirit sitting casually among his project, and the wolf looked instead as though he were proudly modelling his new charming accessories. She smiled adoringly and shook her head in awe. "He looks better, now," she chuckled softly so as not to jostle her arm, "much better." Then her vision darkened at the sides, and she closed her eyes against the rushing tide of a rising headache.

Frowning, Cole stood and leaped from his perch to Lavellan's side. Without needing to ask what ailed her, he scooped up the book and guided her gently back to the cave, directing her toward the makeshift mattress. He enveloped her in soft blankets and quilts to cushion her as she slept for when things inevitably took a turn for the worse. She was out within moments, cradling her throbbing head in her burning hand.

Cole quietly removed the little wicker wolf figurine hidden at the bottom of his basket and placed it carefully beside her pillow for protection. He took out his marbles and began to play on his own again, rolling them slowly across the cold stone floor as the afternoon sun began to shine through the vines and illuminate their home in golden streaks of warming light.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

It had become a game between them. Whenever she awoke to the fact that she was once again within the Fade, she would immediately set out to hunt for the Wolf. This time was no different in that regard, and upon realising she was lucidly dreaming, she once again searched for the nightmarish creature.

She never had need to search too far; he waited just on the edge of her dreams, ever-watchful, the dependable spirit animal that he had become. There would be the telltale swish of a tail rivalling her height in its length, a blurry, great wall of fur running past, and she would dash after him in a mad rush of adrenaline. Racing through forests, between narrow rock faces, and over cliff sides, the wolf dared her to keep up with his progressively more dangerous and spontaneous tactics.

The roles between them had reversed. The Great Wolf had become the hunted, and he moved to avoid her at every turn, as she once had him. Instead of fearing her, though, the Wolf seemed to treat the situation as though she was finally beginning to understand, playing with her as he had always intended to do, had her fear not kept her from seeing the truth.

Lavellan had made remarkable improvement on her first attempt to catch him. She had learned quite a few of his tricks and maneuvers for escape, and though she couldn't quite anticipate every movement, she had a good idea of what he would try at any given time. He dodged her, made false starts, leapt clean over her, and sprinted ahead countless times, and there was no pattern to discern within his strategy. His ability to slip from her grasp at every turn left her breathless, but never once did she relent, and as he would fade into the distance, she would start again next time without fail.

In a moment of decision, she slowly went to her knees and lowered herself to the dust at her feet, the warm ground like fine sandpaper beneath her cheek. Her eyes closed, she waited silently, her ears tuned to heighten her hearing. Sure enough, after a short wait, she heard the sound of heavy paws running past. They halted in their progress, and she sensed him change direction for her, sniffing at her curiously. For a time, she only heard her pulse hammering and the sound of light panting in her ears, and as she registered the light brush of a wet nose against her face and the slightest hint of a high whimper from his throat, she took a swift intake of breath and turned suddenly, grabbing hold of the black mass of fur and gripping tightly as he took off yet again, emitting a piercing howl of surprise.

Dragging against the ground, she ignored the burning scrapes that her mind conjured and inflicted on her body in response to the battering she took, pulling herself onto his back as quickly as she could manage and holding tightly to the tufts of fur over his powerful shoulders, tugging at them like reins. Lavellan directed him left and right as they swerved to avoid trees and rocky outcrops, and the beastly body beneath her moved to accommodate her rather than attempt to throw her for daring to ride.

She had finally done it, and an exhilarating sense of accomplishment washed over her as she laughed and whooped, tears stinging her vision. In this moment, she knew she had truly dominated all her fears, owned them completely, and could conquer and control them at will. There was nothing that could take this feeling from her. She could die happy, now.

The Wolf raced so quickly through the Fade that objects passing them were now simply a blur of colour, and even the wind itself had trouble keeping up with them. As they sprinted through the forest, there was a break in the trees, and the ground ahead of them disappeared as they neared the edge of a deep ravine. She pulled at the tuft of fur in her right hand, and to her shock, he did not respond.

Continuing to race for the edge, a cry emerged from her throat as she shouted her command to make herself better understood. " _Look out,_ " she warned, pulling hard at his right shoulder with no success.

 _Trust me_ , came the unexpected response in her mind.

Gasping, she clung tightly to the beast's neck and prepared herself for the inevitable leap through midair. With a massive push off, they hung freely in the sky longer than should have been possible, and her stomach rose up in giddy fright as they cleared the dark chasm below, landing safely on the opposite ledge as though there had been no doubt in either mind of their survival of that reckless stunt. Skidding to a stop, the Wolf lowered to the ground gently, and Lavellan shakily let go, her heart hammering in her throat as she peered over the ledge and into the nothingness below. How they had made it clear across was a mystery, but one she didn't want to dwell on for too long.

Lavellan noticed the eerie silence behind her, her brow furrowing in confusion before she sighed heavily. _Don't tell me I have to hunt for that damned Wolf again_ , she thought tiredly, turning back and expecting to find only empty grounds before her.

Her eyes caught sight of the tall outline of a strange figure leaning casually against one of the trees making up the border of the forest, a foot in weathered wraps resting on an unevenly chopped tree stump in front of him. She gasped and jumped back involuntarily, covering her mouth before the frightened yelp could escape her lips. Attempting to steady her pounding heart with a hand, Lavellan squinted through the darkness to be absolutely positive of what she saw. The wolf was gone, nowhere in sight, as though he had simply vanished. All that was left of him were the oversized paw prints in the dust just before the grass sporadically kissed the soil, finally vanishing just short of this unnerving shadow.

The figure straightened and lowered his foot to the ground, taking slow, sauntering steps toward her and stopping just ten paces before reaching her. His garments were strange, primitive and foreign to her. Though she recognised the footwraps for elven staples of traditional attire, the rest of his garments were an odd assortment of drapery that gave off the appearance of feral, untamed wildness. A sash cinched low on his waist, tied in a knot at his side, the ends draping down over the dark linen trousers that fit so loosely and lightly that they fluttered in the slightest of breezes at the edge of the forest, the ends folded neatly into the tops of the wraps just under his knees. He was strong and bare-chested, displaying several seemingly random tribal necklaces with talismans, animal teeth, and pendants of unknown origin on low hanging, knotted leather thongs. An oversized robe similar to the colour of the tree bark was shrugged casually over his shoulders as if it had been an afterthought, left untied and catching on the currents in the air, the hems tattered and fraying, suggesting the robe was aged and worn often.

All of this was nothing compared to the headdress that obscured nearly all of his face, save for his mouth and angular chin, though even that was difficult to make out in this light with everything covered in shadow as it was. The thought of bringing up the light in the dream flitted briefly across her mind, but a primitive instinct in her gut cautioned her strongly against getting a better look at the man wearing the thick fur hide of a white wolf over his head and shoulders. The snout and upper jaw, still held together structurally by the skull of the animal, were pulled forward enough to effectively cover his face from view, giving him the appearance that he was not a man at all, but rather the wolf whose pelt he wore so naturally that for a moment she wondered if he wasn't some sort of mythical hybrid creature. Its eye sockets were left empty and cold, the black holes possibly more disturbing than if he had attached glass eyes in their place, yet still those dead eyes seemed to bore through her as he stood unnervingly still, clutching a staff that may as well have been nothing more than a crude tree branch in his grasp.

" _Na theneras'en las ma enasalin. Emma tu sulahn'nehn'in. Ar enaste, da'len…_ "

Her heart in her mouth, Lavellan swallowed hard and placed a foot behind her, preparing to step away if she had to. Absently, she had raised her hands before her at level with her chest. Whether she was doing this in case she needed to use a spell in self-defence, or whether she was instinctively reacting to her mind's denial of what was happening, was lost to her. Her eyes were as wide as a halla's, watching intensely in utter stillness, not recognising this potential predator.

The part of her mind bent on purely surviving this encounter screamed at her not to run or turn away, to act aggressively, and to maintain constant eye contact to intimidate him and hold him at bay. The latter was made impossible by the headdress, but then again, he was not truly a wolf. Wolves were usually shy creatures, and rarely approached elves or humans. No, a lone woman surviving an encounter with a man held an entirely different set of rules. Still, she took her chances and aired on the side of treating him as though he were the dangerous wild animal he appeared to be.

"Not just anyone can walk into another's dream uninvited, _hahren_ ," she stated loudly, hoping to push him back with her abrasiveness.

He didn't budge, remaining statuesque before her. "Then it therefore follows that I must not be just anyone, _da'len_." His voice was low and breathy, as though the wolf atop his head spoke through the man instead of the other way around.

Lavellan's frosty demeanour faltered slightly, and she was forced to gather her wits about her before continuing. "You must have known where to look for me. Do you know me from somewhere?"

"Indeed, I do know you," he replied with a smirk, his body rigid in the pale moonlight. She could almost see the waves of heat coming off of his smooth skin. "The question is, do you know of me?"

Something was setting off every warning within her, and it took all her focus to fight the urge to flee. "Who are you?" She demanded, her hackles raised.

He seemed to take notice of her unease and relaxed his posture, making a small effort to show her that, for now, he meant no harm. "I have been given many names, _da'len_. Who I am to you depends on whether you keep an open mind… But why do you ask that to which you already know the answer? I can hear my name on the tip of your tongue, even now."

An ancient voice whispered the name deep within her, other voices of confirmation following suit behind it, a chorus of recognition swelling in the core of her being. Lavellan forced down a terrified shriek, but she was half a second too late, the panic in her trembling voice evident as she took a step aside and slowly inched in a half-circle toward the trees, continuing to hold his gaze as he pivoted purposefully on his heel to keep her in his sights, following her every move with frank interest.

" _No_ ," she muttered, shaking her head in denial, "it can't be. He's nothing but a _myth_ – a monster invented to scare Dalish children into behaving…"

His shoulders flexed, strong arms raising slightly at his sides as his head hunched ever so slightly. For a split second, she believed he was moving to rush her for an attack, but to her utter astonishment, he was in fact bowing, as though he was a travelling bard formally introducing himself to a noblewoman at the start of an evening of festivities.

"If I am purely mythological, someone neglected to inform me of it, along the way," he said, a smile evident in his voice. "But a monster? That is somewhat of an unfair characterisation. One can exist, yet hardly resemble the outlandish tales told of him. Haven't you ever had a malicious lie or two spread about you?"

"Then you're just a ghost driven insane by years in the Fade," she challenged, grasping at the next logical conclusion. Leaning against one of the trees for support, her hands tucked behind her on the cool, rough bark, she glared back at him, openly defiant. "You're not the first madman to believe he was a deity of some kind, and you won't be the last."

He actually laughed at that, a surprisingly warm chuckle, but it nevertheless made the hair on the back of her neck stand upright to hear it. He tilted his head back just enough for her to see the grin plastered on his obscured face. "And what precisely could I say to convince you otherwise?"

"Give me proof," she retorted, bristling at the fact that he didn't seem to take her seriously at all. "Everything else is cheap."

He lowered his head again, levelling his eye-less gaze at her. "No real god need prove himself," he said with deathly seriousness. "Anyone who tries is mad or lying."

Small alarm bells chimed in her head, her mind recognising the words instantly, but a mental fog descended on her that made it difficult to make the connection as to why the phrase felt so familiar. "I've heard that before," she said, looking down and holding her head with a hand, unable to clear her muddied thoughts. "You're tapping into my memory… doing something to me…"

" _Ar seranna ma_ ," he apologised dismissively, "it became necessary to drop that line of thinking. I will release you in a moment." The fact that he could so easily reach forth and manipulate her made her blanch, knowing she was unsafe even in her own mind from his clutches. Whatever he chose to do with that power from here on was a frightening prospect to consider, and it made her pale further.

"What do you want with me, if it stands to reason that you are who you say you are?" She asked, mumbling the words as she rubbed her aching eyes.

"When did I say who I was?"

"Are you going to respond to _every_ question I ask with another question?" She spat in frustration. As if by will alone, her clouded mind finally cleared, and she once again locked eyes on the white wolf.

"Life is full of questions, _da'len_ ," he said rather unhelpfully, "and few have answers fit for popular consumption." A gust of wind blew the length of his robe out behind him as he once again stood solid in her presence. The composition of the scene folding out in front of her was so foreign to her that it seemed to stretch the boundaries of what was believable, even for a dream.

Looking him over, she shook her head, shoulders slumping. How silly of her to have believed for a moment that this man was anything but insane. "I'm done talking to you, poor ghost. You offer me nothing." She placed her hand on the bark and turned away, placing one foot in front of her and starting into the woods.

"And what if I could?" He asked calmly, his tone implying that he was not in the least bit worried that she would actually leave, or could, for that matter.

Lavellan halted, her head half turning and giving him a once-over out of the corner of her eye. "What do you mean?"

He walked a few paces toward her slowly, his weight shifting effortlessly from foot to foot as he strode over, giving off the subtle mannerisms of an alpha-male coming across an unknown female in his territory. "What if I could offer something of significant value to you?"

There was something about him that didn't feel strange at all, almost familiar in the faintest of ways. She couldn't begin to place what it was, which frustrated her endlessly, but the fact that something was indeed there was all the more intriguing, like a puzzle yearning to be solved. She turned and faced him yet again, standing alone with no support from the tree any longer."Why would you offer me _anything_?" She asked warily, arching a single brow skeptically.

Her heart caught in her throat as he stepped closer, coming near enough for her to feel the heat of his body radiating off of him. He stood for a moment, staring down at her, then shifted to his right, slowly walking around her in a tight circle as if inspecting her, the same way in which the Wolf had done when she had turned to face him for the first time. The fingertips of his left hand brushed against her white robe lightly as he passed, sending an odd thrill through her at the touch. "You should always be vigilant when you enter the forest," he breathed on her neck, his voice low and secretive, "for you must be lucky, each and every time, not to encounter the Wolf… But to find you, _da'len_... the Wolf need only be lucky once."

He paused in his stroll, stopping in front of her and to her left. He reached out confidently and took her scarred hand in his, and as if on cue, the anchor spit angrily to life seemingly upon his whim. "That is what the Dalish say about me, isn't it?" He continued, tilting his head and staring down curiously as he inspected her palm, which he cradled in his with an unexpected delicacy. "Perhaps they no longer tell that one… It was long before your time that I first heard it."

Silently, Lavellan felt panic ebbing at the back of her mind as though it clawed its way to the forefront on hands and knees to remind her that she had allowed the man to come too close to her, and had foolishly put herself in danger without thinking. Her breathing quickened, and carefully, she removed her hand from his grasp. Fortunately, he allowed her to pull it away, the smooth skin of his hands brushing against hers in such a way that made her heart skip a beat. For a wild man, he had remarkably few callouses and was surprisingly well-groomed.

He switched directions, circling her yet again, but giving her a wider berth as he set his staff before him on the ground. "I was lucky to have found you, _lethallan_ , more than you yet realise. I have observed you for some time, and witnessed your deeds on behalf of the elves. You alone held salvation quite literally in the palm of your hand, and with it, you repaired the gaping hole created in the sky." He stopped before her again at a more tolerable distance. "You have impressed me beyond what I had thought possible from a Dalish, nor anyone, for that matter."

"I didn't do it alone," she found herself pointing out. "I had help." As soon as she'd uttered the words, she wished she hadn't, for what if he were to turn his gaze to her friends now, as well? Better it was only her, and that they remained protected from such an encounter.

"You did, indeed," he agreed, something like bemusement in his statement. "For your selfless actions, though, I'd like to offer you a reward."

Her eyes widened in shock, and a wave of hysteria washed over her, once again adopting her previously abandoned aggressive stance. Accepting an offer from the Dread Wolf was precisely the sort of thing Keeper Istimaethoriel had warned her against and, though she had become disillusioned of the Creators, this was exactly the sort of situation of which a Trickster God might try to take advantage. "And what would your 'reward' cost me, _harellan_?" She sneered derisively.

"I ask no price," he stated simply, his tone blunt as he tacitly ignored the derogatory insult.

"There is _always_ a price with you, and usually a terrible one," Lavellan scoffed, onto his little game now. "I am not so easily bought! I'm not even sure I buy _you_ , pretender. And what would you want in return, anyway? Indentured servitude in my afterlife? My _soul_?"

He chuckled heartily, amused by her fiery words, though she had not intended in the slightest to be funny. It irked her to no end as his mirth echoed through the trees behind her. "That's absurd! What use would I have for any of that? I stand for _freedom_ , not trickery," he said, shaking the wolf's lifeless snout back and forth. "Despite what you've heard, I do not make those sorts of seedy contracts." He thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. "Admittedly, I may take advantage of loopholes in some lesser outlined agreements, but I don't intend to do that, here. You have my word, your soul is safe… And even if I did desire it, _lethallan_ , you said so yourself: I could never steal it from you. You've already given your soul to someone else."

She froze in horror, her mouth hanging open as she attempted to force the words from her dry throat. "H-How could you possibly know about that?" She stammered, the hair standing up on her forearms as a chill ran over her skin.

His chest puffed, and he drew himself to his full height, displaying himself with pride. "I am the Roamer of the Beyond," he stated defiantly, his voice low, the bass in it vibrating inside her pointed ears. "In this realm, I walk unrivalled. If you so much as utter anything here of interest to me, my eyes will turn to you. Did you think that I would not take notice of a pretty girl whispering my name?"

She met his eyes, or at least her estimation of where they lay beneath the hide, her hands trembling as she straightened under his stare. "A… pretty girl?" She asked quietly, not knowing how to react to this.

He smiled, and for a moment as he crossed his arms over his chest, the teeth and talismans jangling at being thus disturbed, she could have sworn he was blushing. Was that even possible for such a man as he? "I am old by your standards, _asha_ , but I'm not dead. And I'm certainly not blind," he remarked, gesturing toward her as he took in her appearance.

Awkwardness rising under the scrutiny, she tried for sarcasm to alleviate the pressure. "So you can see me through that morbid headdress, can you?"

Again he laughed, looking down as he kicked at the grass tickling his half-exposed feet. He paced before her steadily, watching the ground as he smiled, thoroughly enjoying himself, now. "This is why you caught my attention, _da'len_. You aren't a complete fool, as countless others sadly are, and you ask many questions - as do I. You may face insurmountable odds, but you still keep your sense of humour; it's refreshing to see that in a fellow cynic."

Lavellan was speechless, noting with a start that he was being openly flirtatious with her. A sense of foreboding hung over her at his words: she had caught his attention… The attention of the one being she had been warned all her life not to attract, to avoid at all costs, to endeavour to shield her clan against. At this moment, it was abundantly clear that not only had she failed to protect her people, but she had failed to drive away the Wolf, as well.

And now she stood face to face with the Betrayer himself.

As though sensing this, he turned to her in his pacing and strode carefully over to her. Lavellan backed away quickly, running into the trunk of a large tree, its branches hanging low enough to grasp. He stopped in his progress toward her, his body language changing subtly, slumping forward slightly. If he'd had a tail, it would have hung low, possibly even between his legs. She wondered absently if he truly had lost it in a fight with a hound, as legend told.

"You are frightened of me," he observed cautiously, taking another careful step toward her. "Minutes ago, you faced down your fears and put your full trust in the Great Wolf. How am I any different now…?" He approached her almost tenderly, careful to be non-threatening about his movements, yet still reminding her of his dominance.

"Face me with the same courage you have shown everything else in life," he challenged her, grabbing hold of the branch just above her head and leaning his body close to hers. "Don't let your dread overcome you, now," he implored her with gentle force. "Say my name aloud, _asha_ … Acknowledge me."

Her pulse hammered in her throat, giving a tremor to her voice as his name escaped her lips. "Fen'Harel," she said breathlessly, unable to resist him this close.

He smiled gently, somehow taking another step as she backed fully against the tree trunk, staring up at him with her large green eyes, full of uncertainty. "That's better," Fen'Harel whispered slowly, barely brushing against her as the gap between them closed. "That wasn't so bad, now, was it?"

As though breaking the spell, he reversed, turning from her and walking a fair distance away, staring up into the night and locating the Black City hovering high in the sky at a distance. Feeling woozy at the lack of blood in her head, Lavellan fell to her knees and sat down hard on the cool forest floor, grounding herself again as she shook her head clear of the leftover reactions to his powerful pheromones. She breathed deeply, getting oxygen back into her brain and preparing for another round.

"So let's cut to the chase," Fen'Harel stated as though nothing at all had passed between them. Was he trying to ignore what had just occurred, or had he purposefully done that to force her into submission? At this point, did it matter either way? "Tell me, _da'len_ : What is it you most desire in this world?"

She thought for a moment, swallowing hard and forcing herself to her feet. Standing once again, she took a few weak steps, fighting the resemblance to a newborn calf. "You couldn't possibly… remove the mark from my hand, could you?" She asked, though she could already predict the answer. Still, it was worth a shot, and she took it, having nothing left to lose.

He turned to face her, frowning and shaking his head, holding his staff at his side. "That mark can only be separated from you upon the moment of your death," Fen'Harel replied clinically. "Do you honestly wish to ask the infamous Dread Wolf to remove it? I believe the stories you've been told would caution you against making such requests…"

"Right," she sighed sardonically, "good point…" She thought for a time, turning over everything within reason in her mind, but a single thought kept returning to her again and again. "Well, then that leaves only one other thing."

He looked as though he wanted to walk toward her again, but for some reason he fought the urge, and instead answered her from where he stood, a slight catch in his voice. "I will do anything you ask of me… Name it, and it will be yours."

Lavellan took a deep breath and closed her eyes, preparing herself for the finality of her wish. Whatever cursed trick he pulled on her over this, at least she would have her last request met before his sudden but inevitable betrayal. "I want to see Solas again."

After a long pause with no response, her eyelids fluttered open. Glancing over, she found him standing perfectly still as he had when he'd first approached her, yet this time the nature of the stance had changed. He had been rattled to the core.

"Why?"

"To say goodbye," she answered honestly, feeling her blood pressure rise and her breath come shallowly. "If I'm going to die – if the mark I got from that orb is really going to kill me someday – I need to see Solas, one last time."

Fen'Harel frowned in consternation, sighing and beginning to pace the expanse on the edge of the ravine. "I can offer you ancient knowledge," he said, his voice raised in outright frustration. "Truth. Wisdom. All of these things can be made yours, and you…" He faltered on the words slightly, scoffing at the very idea she was presenting. "You ask me to arrange a visit with some … _person_?! Can you not see what a _waste_ that is?!"

His voice was hoarse with emotion, stunning her into bafflement. _Why does he care so much?_ She crossed her arms over her chest defensively, setting her jaw in determination. "And you would offer me knowledge, truth, and wisdom, but my simple request to see someone again is beyond your capabilities, is it? What use are you to me, Dread Wolf?"

He stormed over to her, a finger raised in admonishment, and it was then that she didn't need to find the courage to stand her ground against him; she was glaring back without a care for whom he was. "You are passing up an opportunity to _truly_ learn the secrets of – "

"What use is any of that to me if I'm going to die soon, anyway?" She interrupted coolly. "I'll only take it with me to my grave, because I don't have the time or energy to share it with anyone so that it can be passed on… It's _my_ wish, Fen'Harel. You said you would do anything. You gave me your word!"

She had him there. He looked off to the side, thinking quickly. "You can't take his memory with you, either. What exactly do you hope to accomplish by reuniting with someone that hurt you? Do you wish to throw it in his face that he will never grow old with you, that he will surely die alone without you at his side?"

His words struck home. Angry tears stung at her eyes. How dare he claim to know anything about her relationship with Solas? "I don't want to leave any unfinished business behind when I'm gone," she answered as smoothly as she could manage as she bit back the urge to wipe at her eyes. "I'm not looking to pry into his private affairs, whatever they might be. I just think he ought to know. _He_ should have a chance to say goodbye and make his peace, not me," she explained, her voice fading slightly at the tail end of her sentence. Lavellan cleared her throat and straightened herself, smoothing her hair behind her ear before hugging her arms, the ache beginning to take hold of her left side again. "I wouldn't want him to live the rest of his life with regret for not seeing me before my death… He lives with too much guilt as it is."

There was a wide chasm of silence for a time between them as he considered her words. Coming to the conclusion that she wasn't going to get what she'd asked for, she eyed the ground beneath her feet and mentally prepared herself for the severe disappointment he was about to inflict on her.

"That is… kind of you," he started, and she waited for the 'but' that would surely follow. "It seems I misjudged you. I didn't expect… never mind."

Her eyes shot up, looking at him as she stepped closer to him for the first time in their entire conversation. "Does that mean you'll keep your word? You'll bring him to see me again?"

Fen'Harel sighed to himself, nodding almost imperceptibly. "I must first find this 'Solas' and see if he will agree to a meeting. I cannot force him, but perhaps he can be persuaded." The stiffness in his voice betrayed something behind his demeanour, and her brow furrowed in confusion. Bitterness? Jealousy? Remorse? She couldn't place it, but the awkward silence between them highlighted something he was holding back, and she couldn't pretend it wasn't there.

"Well, for what it's worth," Lavellan said cautiously, "thank you, in advance."

He turned his hidden eyes to her, his voice soft and grave. "Do not thank me, yet," he warned her sympathetically. "You may not like that which you receive…"

So there _was_ a catch. "Are you planning to deceive me?" She demanded, wanting to know upfront what he was getting her into with this so-called "reward".

From what she could see of his face, he appeared to wince slightly. "On the contrary: I would give to you exactly what you ask," he reassured her, "but that does not mean you would not come to regret your decision…"

He turned away and started off toward the forest. As he reached the tree line, Fen'Harel stopped and turned his head, his back still to her as he spoke over his broad shoulder: "When next you dream, I will be ready."

Lavellan's eyes widened in surprise. "Does that leave you enough time to find him?" She asked, feeling anxiety creep up on her.

He stared into the forest for a moment, then quietly answered, "There is no time in the Fade." Without another word, he stepped between the trees, instantly lost to shadow, disappearing into the darkness.

Then her arm surged with fiery pain, and she was ripped violently back to reality.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

Without warning the anchor sparked to life again, causing Lavellan to instantly sit up out of her sleep and hold her arm out and away from herself in the same gesture she had used to close the rifts, as though this would somehow drain the offending energy from her. She grunted in agony as it inched its way upward, and she perceived with a sudden jolt of cold terror that it would not be long before this affliction spread high enough to reach her heart. What would happen to her then? Would it hold off long enough for the Dread Wolf to come through on his promise?

It clapped off with a sound comparable to a heavy door slamming closed due to a strong windstorm outside, forcing it shut. Reeling backwards, Lavellan collapsed on the makeshift mattress, gasping in the dusty cave air and clutching her burning arm protectively as she trembled in shock, invisible flames still licking her flesh.

Before she had heard anything, Cole appeared above her and threw a warm field blanket over her, taking her weakened, frail arm and moving it to the outside of her coverings. With a jerk and a slight grunt of effort, he tore the sleeve from her beautiful white robe, the enchanted fabric fraying at the seams as he yanked it down over her wrist and clean off. He left her side for the briefest of moments as she tried to catch her breath, and upon his return, he poured ice cold river water from the kettle onto her bare skin. It chilled the rest of her, her teeth chattering loudly in her skull, but it helped alleviate the immediate sting momentarily – or at the very least distracted her from the pain flowing deep in her bones.

He tossed the empty kettle aside without a care for it and applied pressure with his hands, massaging her arm, kneading at it like dough in his hands. Cole rubbed firmly at it, going from fingertips to shoulder and back down again with a practised hand, having done this countless times before, leaving nothing untouched as he murmured soft reassurances to her, calming waves washing over her mind to soothe her frightened thoughts.

After a time the burning sensation subsided and she thanked him in an anxious whimper, attempting to rise up and sit beside the fire outside, as was routine after she was doused with the ice water. However, this time was different. She felt weak, hollow, and fatigued. She couldn't get her feet under her, and her left arm felt devoid of all muscle. Sensing her inability to move on her own, Cole leaned toward her and gathered her body in his arms. She was so light from being ill that it was nothing for him to scoop her up and walk her outside. He leaned against the side of the cave where they had set up their fire pit, a pot of stew bubbling over the flames in a cauldron he'd acquired in a trade.

Instead of setting her down on her own to recover, he shimmied down the outside wall until he sat on the grassy forest floor, holding her close as she rested against his chest, struggling with each and every wheezing breath. Cole brushed her hair behind her ears and tucked the blankets around her, keeping the chill at bay and offering the warmth of his body to her. "Don't worry, Bunny," he whispered as she groaned in pain, "I'll get help…"

This was it. It wouldn't be long, now. He closed his eyes and reached out through the Void. _Solas_ , he called, _it's almost time. Please hurry._

 _I know_ , came the answer right away, flooding him with relief, _I'm coming, Cole… I'll be there soon._


	14. Chapter 14

"Try again."

Lavellan sighed in exasperation, her eyes closed as she sat barefoot and cross-legged on the high back upholstered red chair, brows furrowed in concentration. She attempted to recall every detail to mind: the shading, the glowing body, the subtle, waxy sheen off their surfaces, catching the light just so. Just when she thought she'd had it, she opened her eyes to check her progress. The large pillar candles faded and disappeared from the shining silver platter before her eyes in an instant's lapse of focus.

"Again."

"Let's not, and say we did," she quipped, the corner of her mouth turning up to hide her frustration with the process.

"Never leave anything half-done."

"Is that the voice of wisdom speaking, _hahren_?" She asked, meeting his narrow, ice blue gaze.

"The voice of experience, _da'len_ ," he smiled sadly, waving a long hand at the empty desk to bring her attention back to the platter. "Now, relax yourself and try again."

She projected her thoughts once more, despite how mind-numbingly long they'd been at this single task. Lavellan was growing weary, having constructed every detail of the study thus far purely from the confines of her own memory. It was nearly done, but unless every last detail was recalled, he wasn't going to allow her to give up.

"Reflect upon the important role the air currents flowing through the rotunda play, affecting the subtle dance of the flame, and the angles of the shadows it casts as it shifts to and fro," he offered softly so as not to disturb her concentration. "Be mindful of the colour of the wick as it burns, the hard wax melting and pooling around it. Let it expand in volume and drip down over the sides, cooling rapidly as it escapes the flame… Imagine the cascading effect on the smooth, cylindrical surface… Now add texture, as though several days have passed through constant use, during long nights spent in research and quiet contemplation…"

Lavellan relaxed her brow, her mental picture coming to completion as she conjured the heat of the flame and it flickered into existence, careful to get the colour grade for the heat just right. Opening her eyes slowly, she saw upon the wooden desk her creation, illuminating the scattered papers in front of her. Testing her success, Solas, who stood opposite her, raised his hands to warm his palms near the flames, bringing them close, and then pulling them away to feel the difference in the heat radiating from the pillar candles. He then clasped his hands behind his back, leaning down to peer at the density of the wax and the extent to which the light penetrated through the bodies.

"Remarkable," he approved, turning his face slightly toward her and meeting her anticipating stare, pride in his eyes. "I believe they might even look better than the ones I own."

"Is that bad?" Lavellan asked. "I know how particular you are about my attention to detail."

"I don't mind if it actually goes to improve upon the original," he smirked, turning toward the scaffolding where she'd hung the enchanted iron sconce. Arching his arms around himself, he lit the sconce with blue flame from his hands and it burst to life, roaring softly as it consumed the oxygen before settling and casting its ethereal light around the scaffolding. "This is particularly impressive," he praised her, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his weight onto a casual hip, his head tilted slightly to the right. "Veilfire is an ancient echo of flame recalled by the Fade through the Veil. It's quite a skill to achieve the same result whilst still standing in the Fade."

"You were the one who cast the spell," Lavellan said with confusion, shaking her head.

"And you preserve it even now with your thoughts. You yourself keep it alive with your knowledge of how it is meant to behave. The only reason it continues to burn is because you will it so," Solas replied turning about and making his way across the room.

He stood next to her as she sat in the chair, looking up at him with a good-humoured smile. "So does that mean I get a cookie, Solas?" She jested, looking up expectantly.

His low chuckle echoed off the stone walls of the Fade rotunda as he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her forehead, lightly tracing the dark green _vallaslin_ honouring the goddess Mythal with a finger. He held a distant, pained look as he did so, but he swallowed hard and quickly reworked the expression into a knowing smile at noticing her stare. With a wink, he brought his other hand up and presented her with, of all things, a small cookie, taking Lavellan aback.

"You sly dog," she laughed in surprise, taking it from his grasp and popping the whole of it into her mouth, her green eyes smiling up as she tasted its sweetness.

"A _dog_ , am I? Well, I suppose I can be at times. Come," he said quietly, pulling her chair out and taking hold of her hand. "There's still one more task to complete, _da'len_."

He guided her to the long sofa near the archway that led to the library upstairs, and laid himself down with a sigh, resting his head against the left arm. Smirking knowingly, Lavellan sat in the middle of the cushion, her eyebrow arched in curiosity. "Why, _hahren_ , what's this? Are you propositioning me? This is highly inappropriate!"

"No," Solas corrected her, pulling her down with a jerk and bringing her close, his chest firmly against her back so she could feel the rhythm of his racing heart. "This is." He brushed her fair hair from her neck and folded her silk collar down, placing his mouth on her long, slender neck and kissing her tenderly, his tongue tasting the smooth skin beneath his lips.

Lavellan sighed and reached her hand back to stroke his pointed ear, running her hand down to hold the back of his neck, her eyes closed as she felt her nerves tremble at his touch. She shifted herself toward him, pressing her backside against him, and felt the full intensity of his desire there. His hand gripped her hip firmly, holding her slightly away from him as he continued to kiss her, uninterrupted. She tried again, pushing herself against him, and yet again he held her back, perplexing her further.

He rested his forehead on her hair, bringing his hand up to pull her closer and bending his knees up behind hers. "There is one more task left to do to complete this room," he uttered softly, his breath warm on her ear. "Recreate the murals."

"What?" She blurted in surprise, turning her body so she lay on her back, staring at the intimidatingly bare walls in front of her. "You want me to… But how?"

"The same way you did everything else," he reasoned, as if what he was asking wasn't beyond the scope of her abilities. "There is no difference between crafting a candle and painting a picture."

"But I can't... remember that much detail from them," Lavellan muttered, embarrassed at having to admit her failure to study his artwork closely.

Solas ran his hand down her arm until he found her hand, lacing his fingers with hers over her abdomen and squeezing them. "Then touch my memories."

She stifled a giggle unsuccessfully. "Touch your what-now?"

The breath huffed from his nose as his body shook behind her. After a moment, he snorted gently with mirth and took the point of her ear between his teeth, biting her slightly in punishment for the thoughts in her head. "Focus, _da'len_ , and open your mind…"

Sure enough, Lavellan received a crystal clear image imprinted in her mind sent over from Solas' own memory. Though the mural itself was relatively new, the message itself felt impossibly old, as though she peered into a bottomless chasm, unable to see how far the abyss of time truly went. She was overcome with a sense of vertigo for a moment and, as soon as he was certain she had the image firmly planted in her mind, Solas pulled back mentally, setting her free.

"Now," he whispered quietly, careful not to mention what had passed between them, "show me what you can do, my heart…"

Breathless, she stared at the wall, studying its dimensions. She referenced the image he'd provided of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, blown quite literally sky-high. The bright beam shone from the explosion high into the air, where it penetrated the Fade and created the Breach. Within the Fade on the other side was painted the Black City. She'd never seen the artwork in such detail before.

Something else in the painting caught her eye, so to speak. "Solas," she wondered, her brow furrowing as she tried to interpret the meaning herself, "what are all these red eyes within the boundaries of the Fade in your mural?"

Had she not been looking for subtle clues, she may have missed the almost imperceptible pause in his movement and speech as he faltered ever so slightly. "Those – are the watchful eyes of spirits… pressing against the Veil as they are drawn to the Breach," he answered, his voice calm as he began to kiss her neck again, though there was an awkward stiffness throughout him now. "Go on," he urged her, changing the subject and shifting to make himself more comfortable.

His memory was so vivid that Lavellan needed only to close her eyes but for a few seconds before the mural adorned the wall. Able to smell the lick of fresh paint, she opened her eyes to see a perfect copy of the image in her mind.

Glancing over, Solas checked to see how far along she was in the process, and upon finding the completed work on the wall, he jerked with a start and rose on an elbow, his mouth agape. "One moment," he said hurriedly as he leaped over her legs and met the stone floor with his bare feet. He made his way to the wall, staring up in wonder.

" _Vhenan_ , this is…" He shook his head in amazement, walking back to where she lay and kneeling before her, clasping her hands in his. "It's as though you snapped your fingers and simply… made it so…! Do it again," he insisted, a glint in his eyes. "You _must_ do it again! Take the next panel from me. I'll watch you, this time."

As instructed, she opened herself to receive the next image, careful not to lose herself in the depths to which his mind dove. Howling wolves around the ceremonial sword of the Inquisitor, the Seeker's Eye on its hilt, surrounded by the flames of the Prophet Andraste. Once she had it, he turned his eyes from her to watch the wall with all the excitement of a young man waiting for his secret love to appear from around a corner. She peered at the curved wall, planning her placement of the image, closed her eyes, and smelled the paint once more, stronger this time. She opened her eyes to find the mural surely as if Solas himself had just finished it.

He turned back to Lavellan, grinning madly. "That is astounding," he marvelled, climbing behind her again and holding her close, moving her legs so they draped over his thighs and turning her head to kiss her fully. "In all my years, I've never seen anyone pick up that skill as quickly as you just did. It took me _ages_ to learn to work from memories. You are a natural, _vhenan_."

"Thank you," she replied as she kissed him back, her fingertips on his pronounced cheekbone. Her happiness at having thoroughly pleased him and the amorous emotions flowing between them fuelled the fiendish idea that popped into her mind. With her eyes closed during the long kiss, she suppressed a smile and formed the exact image in her mind, plastering it in the style of an elven masterpiece to the wall. "I just finished the next one," she muttered as she bit his lower lip playfully.

"What?" Solas' eyes shot open, his head raising to look around the room. "You _actually_ – Oh," he snorted, casting his eyes away from the new addition, his cheeks dimpling with amusement and pressing his lips together tightly. "It's well-executed," he smiled with a nod, blushing softly as he cleared his throat, "but somehow, I don't believe your Advisers would approve of that particular panel."

"No?" Lavellan bit her lip, trying desperately not to burst with laughter. "What about you, _hahren_?"

"Oh, I approve," Solas grinned, kissing her passionately and lowering himself against her. "I _greatly_ approve, _da'len_ … But now it's your turn to be the tutor." He pushed her knees gently apart with a leg. "Come and teach me how to achieve such an interesting position…"

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

Nocturnal insects chirped to life around Cole, invisible in the evening darkness. The little bugs didn't come close enough to the crackling fire to be seen, and he empathised heavily with their cautious aversion. Cole knew better than most spirits that, oftentimes, it was safer to be heard and not seen. Whenever people came across the unknown, they tended to stamp it out and destroy it in response to their own fear or ignorance. However, if people merely heard the soft, gentle strums of their voices, calming and peaceful in their intent, it was less likely to end in death for them. That's why it was usually better for spirits and insects alike to remain in the dark, letting their soothing song ring out, rather than be discovered and taken for a monster. Cole felt a strong kinship with these misunderstood creatures as they hummed their comforting tune.

To say Lavellan slowly ate her herb and vegetable stew in utter silence was to ignore the hundreds of frenzied voices vibrating within her. They nearly shook the Veil itself with their volume, and Cole had only his time in the White Spire from which to draw a comparison; deafening echoes of hundreds of outraged mages in a stone tower were the closest he'd ever come to such a racket before. It was a wonder they did not drive her to the point of madness, but she had learned to share a space with them, tuning them out in the same way a lonely old man ignores the music and levity of a pub at full capacity in favour of his drink. The cacophony of Elvish blather made it hard for Cole to focus and be supportive of her, as he needed to be right now.

Yet again, she hadn't much of an appetite, and Lavellan poured the uneaten portion of her supper back into the cauldron next to the fire, hissing air through her teeth at the slight jostling of her now bare arm, the sleeve having been torn off to better treat the area. Any movement of her arm these days caused her great pain, setting her nerves ablaze. At that moment, Cole wanted nothing more than to tell her that it would be all right soon, that he had sent for Solas earlier that day, and he would come to try to lessen her suffering.

He wanted to say it, but fear of her reaction gave him pause. Of course, she was going to find out about what Cole had done, sooner or later. Well, sooner, actually… Sooner by the second. Was it wise to hide it from her until he simply showed up out of the forest without warning? Cole knew he ought to tell her so she had time to prepare herself, or yell at him, or whatever she needed to do to open herself up to accepting aid.

With a note of resignation, he took a breath, opened his mouth, and –

"I'm going to see Solas again," Lavellan murmured as though she could hardly believe it herself, hugging her legs close to her chest and resting her chin on her knees.

Cole's mouth hung open, surprise and curiosity leaving him speechless. He hadn't known she would say anything, let alone that, of all things. How did she know he was coming? Were the voices of the Well able to read him as easily as he could read others who needed him? No one had ever been able to decipher his thoughts, before, and it felt strangely… comforting.

He was overcome with a strong sense of relief from not having to break the news to her. She seemed to be taking it in stride, if not looking a bit anxious and drawn. "Does that… upset you?" He asked, now wondering if this was why she was unable to eat her supper.

"No. Yes – I don't know," she admitted anxiously, burying her face in her knees. Her voice came out muffled after that, and Cole moved to sit next to her, fidgeting with his fingerless leather gloves as he listened, providing what comfort he could to her with his nearness. "I'm so worried, Cole… Everyone knows you shouldn't make a deal with him. It doesn't go well for anyone involved."

He shied away, flinching mentally at not only the raised voices, but her knowledge of the bargain Solas had struck with him. It wasn't a good bargain, he knew, and could easily go horribly wrong. Until that moment, though, Cole had been too preoccupied with his concern for Lavellan's deteriorating health to realise that Solas' impending arrival signalled the end of their time together. _You will leave her behind, never come back, and not contact either of us, ever again. Do we have a deal?_

And he was coming now, based solely on those terms.

All the while, he sat utterly still by her side in front of the campfire, panic dawning on him at their impending separation. Cole wasn't ready to say goodbye to her forever, and to be perfectly honest with himself, he didn't like the idea of leaving his dying friend in Solas' care, not knowing what he would do to treat her, if anything.

Preparing to accept the consequences of his decision, he settled his mind on another approach. He breathed a heavy sigh through his nose, reached out to take her good hand in his, and gripped it firmly, letting her rely on the solidity of his presence next to her. Cole said nothing, but the message was clear: _No matter what happens, I am here. Until the very end._

Lavellan leaned her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes as she fought another bought of fatigue. He could feel how moved she was by his sentiment, but she was too tired to cry, these days, having accepted her fate and resolving herself to save her energy toward prolonging her life. Her relief at his silent declaration hit him plainly enough, renewing his hope for the strength of her fighting spirit.

Having said that, she was scared of something, but it was too difficult to move through the crowd within her to reach the cause. Her fear compelled him to push past them, though, and he called out to her despite not intuitively knowing the cause of her emotional turmoil. "He can't hurt you, Lavellan. If he tries, he'll have to come through me first, and nobody gets through me."

He'd made her laugh, though he didn't understand why; he was being completely serious with her. She squeezed his hand and rested her free one on his fingers, stroking them companionably. "You're like the brother I never had, Cole. I love you. Thank you for always looking after me," she smiled weakly, fighting the pain in her side rising up once again as she yawned and fought the urge to stretch.

"And you're like the sister the real Cole once had," he answered faintly, remembering the pale little blonde girl he recalled only as "Bunny". "Don't worry," he reassured her, a defiant tone in his voice, "I couldn't save her, but I will protect you… I'm not going anywhere. I promise you."

"Was that ever… in any doubt…?" She asked tentatively, concern in her voice. The strength in her grip faded rapidly, and after a few moments, he felt her slump lightly against him in exhaustion. Her inner voices finally died down, and he was certain she'd slipped into sleep against his shoulder.

Cole stared into the hungry flames, listening to the crawling insects chirp heedlessly in the bushes nearby. He gathered his frail elven friend into his arms and pulled a blanket over her, keeping her as warm as he possibly could while she slept fretfully against his chest. He brought her close under the rim of his worn, tattered hat and wrapped his arms around her curled form, determined to defend her, come friend or foe.

"Never."

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

There was no time in the Fade. So it followed that there was all the time in the world.

Her mind conjured up so many scenarios that she had trouble keeping up. She'd wanted this for so long, but how would it actually play out? Would Fen'Harel bring Solas to her, or would Solas come on his own? Or worse, what if neither of them came to her? What if it had only been the most intense dream she'd ever had? Lavellan shook her head of thoughts that ultimately added nothing. It was safer to act on the assumption that what she had experienced was real, rather than some elaborate invention of her overactive mind.

Speaking of which, she turned her attention back to the present and walked up the marble steps, taking in her surroundings. Every detail had been accounted for, thanks to the memories she had preserved for herself and the additions of those she lacked by a select few helpful minds. The ornate silverite chandelier above her cast a romantic glow over the shimmering Grand Ballroom floor, the waxed tables bordering it lengthwise well-supplied with light pastries, decorative fruit, and enough wine to incapacitate a legion of men. Whether one looked up to the high ceiling with its painted depictions of Andraste, the massive marble columns supporting it, or the railing along the walkways, gold glinted in each and every direction. Even the angelic statues with their wings spread in mid-flight were solid gold. Rich, heavy teal curtains were hung and tied back with thick tassels between the columns, but the arched windows themselves were left bare, presumably to let the light shine through and illuminate the glory of the Orlesian Empire, though they were dark now in the evening in which she had set everything.

It was all a bit much for a simple Dalish elf, but Lavellan had remembered how much Solas had enjoyed his time at the Winter Palace, though he hadn't much chance to indulge himself then, considering his presumed status as a servant assigned to accompany her while she silently worked behind the scenes to expose Empress Celine's assassin. If they were going to meet again, here was preferable to some ordinary, nondescript corner of the Fade, no matter how much he loved it there.

So as not to appear devoid of all life, she had filled the court with musicians and nobility dressed in their finest garb, the ladies in their typically impractical high frilled collars and petticoats, men with enough drapery, lace, and feathers to set up their own garment shoppes, all faces hidden beneath the painted masks of their respective houses. Instead of an oppressive atmosphere of refined political gambits, she had substituted the Great Game with merriment, conversation, and sweet laughter, all of it meant to lighten her mood and calm her heightened nerves. Though their behaviour was not the norm, their showy hairdos and elaborate, colourful layers matched perfectly what she had seen on her prior visit to Halamshiral, sans the backstabbing and assassination attempts, of course. This is what she felt a masquerade ought to be, and left the politics out of it, lest it spoil the mood she was creating.

She lit the last gilded wall sconce, its five candles glowing before she could open her eyes, and smiled to herself. No detail had been overlooked; if she knew him as well as she did, Solas would be proud of the effort to which she had gone. Pulling at the collar of her red waistcoat, she fidgeted with her blue Inquisition sash. Lavellan had no idea how to dress for such an occasion, but felt out of place in her drab mage robes by comparison with her other guests, no matter how little they would judge her for her attire, they not being real, after all. Anyhow, it would make it easier for him to find her in the expansive palace if she wore what she had the last time – the only time – they had attended.

Checking herself in a passing mirror on a chic sideboard, she headed for the high doors leading to the vestibule which led out to the guest garden, wanting to sweep the perimeter once more to be certain everything was completed. Lavellan remembered the column by the window where Solas had once stood, nursing one of his many glasses of red wine as he eavesdropped on private conversations, and felt simultaneously hollow at his absence and giddy at the prospect that he would arrive soon enough to actually walk the ornate rugs with her, this time. Though the passing hours were an illusion, she still felt the wait nearly impossible to bear.

Before she could reach them, the opulent doors swung open suddenly, catching the attention of the entire Grand Ballroom. Lavellan's stomach rose up to meet her mouth as if it had sprouted wings in an attempt to escape. She pushed down the rush of adrenaline and nausea, her gloved hand over her racing heart as she passed into shadow and backed away slowly, her eyes fixed on the floor as she waited for the newcomer to pass from behind the door obstructing her view. _This is it_ , she told herself, her stomach fluttering excitedly.

And then, it wasn't.

He walked in as though he might have owned the palace, his staff out before him as he walked without acknowledging the stares from the people around him. Dressed as he had been when she'd first met him, he stopped to inspect everything as he passed, picking up small silverite bowls from the table by the far window and holding them up to the moonlight passing through the glass. A nearby, nameless nobleman found himself to be the next passing interest, his salmon-coloured shoulder poufs poked and prodded. The noble stepped away indignantly, glaring under his mask and moving quickly away, his lady on his arm, her gown swishing as they hurried to a safe distance. He let out a highly amused laugh at this, shaking his head and making his way down the marble steps two at a time.

The court crier brought a golden staff down with a bang on a raised platform as he passed down the second flight of stairs leading to the ballroom floor. "May I present – " The crier paused when the strange man knelt down to inspect the floor, running his hand along the smooth, cool marble, tracing the geometric patterns with his fingertips. A loud clearing of the throat brought the new arrival to his feet, though, and he slowly strode across the middle of the long floor, glancing every which way and nodding to the painted strangers near the tables of refreshments.

"May I present for the pleasure of the Court," the crier started again as Lavellan shadowed the man across the floor, keeping to the windows as she made her way to the opposite side of the ballroom, "Fen'Harel, also known widely as the Dread Wolf, Lord of Tricksters, The Great Wolf, Roamer of the Beyond, He Who Hunts Alone, and Bringer of Nightmares, kin to both the Creators and the Forgotten Ones, and recognised member of the Elven Pantheon."

The gathered nobles bowed slightly as he passed them, turning to each other to gossip amongst themselves as Lavellan reached the landing of the stairs and made her way down the first flight to meet him, bristling slightly at realising he had come alone. Though she fought to keep her cool, she couldn't help feeling that he had already sprung whatever trap he'd laid.

"Now _that_ was quite the announcement, don't you think?" Fen'Harel grinned, his headdress covering everything from the nostrils up. He was positively beaming, the sharp teeth hanging from leather twine on his chest clinking together as he mounted the short flight of stairs to meet her.

"You have a flair for showmanship, I'll give you that," she agreed stiffly as he reached her side. "You certainly know how to enter a room and garner the most attention, to be sure, Dread Wolf."

"Ah, well, I can afford to, here," he replied, ignoring her curt manners. "And it's not as though I get the chance to indulge myself in such behaviour, normally." He turned his unsettling white wolf headdress toward the ceiling, his wide, smiling mouth giving away his appreciation of her work. "Speaking of rooms and garnering attention… _This_ ," he marvelled with a wave of his primitive staff, "is absolutely stunning! You have outdone yourself… Colour me impressed, _lethallan_ , I would not have thought that such minute detail could be achieved. How did you manage all of this? You could not have recalled all of this from memory, surely."

"Most of the architecture was me, but I had help for the smaller details," Lavellan admitted, looking up the steps. Hidden in the shadows were her five assistants for the evening, and sensing their fear, she waved them over, relaxing her stance so as to show them nothing was amiss. Quickly, the group of nervous elves, dressed simply in shades of brown and beige, made their way toward her, hands clasped in front of them in fright as their eyes never left the imposing wild man before them, clearly terrified after having witnessed his grandiose introduction. "These are some of the servants that work in the palace. They were kind enough to lend me a hand."

Glancing between them, Fen'Harel nodded in admiration, thoroughly understanding. "And who better to consult on the finer details of the Winter Palace than those who tend to its care on a daily basis. Yes, that was perceptive of you… Well done," he praised Lavellan, his tone thoughtful as he mulled this over, considering the servants carefully as he bit his lower lip. There was a prominent air of dislike for these apprehensive, quivering elves, shaking like dying leaves in his presence. Presumably he preferred a bit more gusto in the People than they were presenting him with.

One attractive young woman, however, proved to have just such a quality, coming before them with frank interest rather than outward defiance of Fen'Harel's appearance. Her nose and cheeks were hidden behind a delicate silverite mask, chestnut hair pinned up in such a way as to define her status as more than merely a lowly servant in the palace. She steadied herself, steeling her nerves before his eyeless gaze. " _Fen'harel enansal_ ," she breathed, brown eyes wide with wonder.

He smirked gently, tilting his head slightly to the left and resting a pensive finger on his angular chin. "You have something you'd like to say," he invited her in a scholastic tone. "Speak your mind, _da'len_."

She blinked from a slight twitch, the only sign of her unease under his unabashed stare. After a brief pause to clear her throat and steady her voice, she asked warily, " _Harellan_ , where is Felassan?"

Fen'Harel was intimidatingly silent for a long moment as he stood before her. A palpable energy passed between them that Lavellan did not understand, and she resisted the impulse to step back from the two of them; there was clearly a history here to which she was not privy. He turned nonchalantly away to take in the sight of couples twirling in a synchronised dance below, the soothing strains of music lending to the illusion that all was normal.

"The Slow Arrow fell into the maw of the Great Beast," he said placidly, "as is wont to happen, Briala."

She flinched at the use of her name and stepped back involuntarily, obviously upset by what he had said. Of course this was Briala, she realised with a start; they'd met once before at the palace, but Lavellan must have forgotten in her excitement to prepare everything for Solas' arrival. She arched a brow and shot a glance at Fen'Harel in his loose, dark brown robe, sticking out like a thorn among blushing roses at the masquerade.

Briala could have burned a hole through his back with the intense look she was giving him, and sensing this, Fen'Harel turned and strolled over to her, holding a hand out before himself. He brought forth in his palm a dazzling, iridescent mist that he then lifted to his mouth, blowing the sphere gently in her direction. The glittering cloud surrounded her head and shoulders, and as she attempted in her surprise to fan away the haze penetrating her mind, he whispered a quiet word in Elvish Lavellan did not recognise. Before she could object, Briala faded from sight, presumably to emerge from her sleep on the other side, completely unaware of the encounter she'd just experienced.

A chill ran up Lavellan's spine as she moved to stand between him and the cowering elves. "Wait," she interrupted him before he could dismiss the others, "I promised them free reign of the palace to enjoy it as they pleased. I won't have you making a liar out of me."

After a moment's hesitation, the corner of his mouth turned up in an amused smirk, whether from her attempt to assert direct authority over him, or at the realisation that she'd given these servants a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to fulfil their fantasies or frustrations with their workplace. "As you wish," he acquiesced, holding his arms away in a gesture of submission as he stepped away cockily. He walked down the flight of stairs to a table, retrieving a glass of wine from a platter and knocking it back in one gulp.

Sighing from a niggling annoyance, Lavellan turned to her helpers and fixed them with a cordial smile. "Pay no attention to the crazy mage," she chuckled, reassuring them with a roll of her eyes. "He's just a friend of mine. He thinks he's a _god_ – like I said, crazy," she dismissed the robed figure, looking out of the corner of her eye to see Fen'Harel staring up at her and laughing to himself as he toasted another full glass in her direction. "Anyway," she patted gently, ushering them away, "go have fun; I'm sure there's a few things you've been dying to do. Drink the wine, dance, whatever you fancy! Thank you for your help, tonight."

The four elves turned to each other, a mischievous glint in their eyes, and raced off together down to the ballroom floor. Lavellan watched as the man of the group picked up a cream cake, walked straight up to a noble, pulled the feathered hat from atop his balding head, and crushed the cake over his hair and masked face. The riotous group ran laughing and screeching into the vestibule just as the covered noble and a nearby chevalier gave chase, shouting unrepeatable obscenities in their flowery Orlesian tongue.

Lavellan lifted her hand to put a stop to their pursuers, but Fen'Harel touched her gloved wrist lightly, bringing her arm back down to her side. "No, don't," he grinned, not removing his fingertips from her. "The chase is more than half the fun; let them have this moment."

Silently agreeing, she watched the doors as they were slowly shut behind them, her worried eyes searching one last time for any sign of Solas before they clicked closed again. Though the ball resumed around her, she was overcome by a keen loneliness, and felt statuesque among the swirling, vibrant festivities. How strange to see the people she thought into existence what seemed an hour ago having a merrier time than she was at this very moment. This was now, for all intents and purposes, a pity party. But it was a lovely one, at least…

It was then that she felt Fen'Harel's fingertips still resting softly against her wrist, as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world, and awkwardness swept over her as she looked down at his intimate touch. He did not have the hands of a man who scoured the Fade, searching for hapless victims to pounce on and play his evil tricks. They were smooth, callous-free, but fully capable, masking a hidden strength behind his silky skin. Perhaps that was part of what it meant to be a god, or indeed, part of the deception; one could look at him and never suspect what he truly was. Then again, the wolf's head covering his own and the white furs around his shoulders were a bit of a giveaway, to be fair.

He nursed his glass of red next to her, watching the proceedings with a calm aloofness that neither betrayed any sense that he was bored, nor entertained. The only outward sign that bespoke of his level of comfort was the way his first finger began to absently stroke her thumb in a tender, almost cruelly familiar manner. Memories flashed through her mind so painfully clear at his contact that she gasped, pulling her hand away and clasping it with the other behind her back.

He turned to her, seemingly noticing his behaviour for the first time, and bowed his head, silently begging her pardon. Without a word, she dropped it right there, not wanting to acknowledge what had happened, even to herself. Still, her heart beat rapidly against her ribs, like loud rapping on a door that she dared not open for fear of what waited on the other side.

"May I ask you a question, _lethallan_?" He asked conversationally, attempting to ignore the blush in his cheeks.

"Only if I'm allowed to ask questions in turn," she replied, grateful for any discussion that detracted from the awkwardness.

"Indeed." Fen'Harel gestured toward her clothing with his glass, a laugh evident on his lips. "What the hell are you wearing?" He smirked, taking a sip to hide his amusement.

Lavellan looked down at her formal red coat, startled. That had not been the sort of question she'd been expecting. She fiddled with her blue sash for the umpteenth time this evening, and, filled with exasperation, let sarcasm creep into her speech as she answered, "This is called 'finery', Dread Wolf. I could see how it might baffle you, given your sense of style."

She'd wanted to irk him, but instead he found her quite humorous, much to her chagrin. "All this splendour around you that you yourself created, and you did not wish to don something more…" he searched his vocabulary for a fitting description.

"Appropriate?" She offered, arching a brow.

He pursed his lips slightly in consideration. "I was going to say 'alluring', but yes, that will suffice."

"I've never worn a dress, before," she admitted with a dismissive shrug. "The Dalish don't exactly have much use for them." Lavellan cleared her throat and straightened her posture, becoming flustered as he shook his head in mild disapproval. "I don't think you have much room to judge me," she glared, eyeing his open robe and loose trousers. His toes wiggled playfully in their elven wraps when she finally reached them, making her scoff and reach for a wine glass.

"You look like a retired general," he teased as she poured a fresh glass from the iced bottle.

"I'm not the one sporting a hunter's rug for a hat!"

Fen'Harel laughed a loud burst, petting the fur over his shoulder and nodding appreciatively. "True enough," he conceded her point, biting his lip to suppress his chuckling. "Perhaps we should change into something more suitable to the occasion?"

Lavellan looked about her at the dancers and gossip circles, hoping to draw inspiration from the ladies at court around her, but found nothing particularly appealing. "Everything here is so gaudy," she muttered, sipping at the contents of her glass and appreciating anew the lengths her elven assistants had gone to remember each crisp detail as she swallowed the fruity liquid. "I'll never understand Orlesians."

"Nor would you want to," he smiled charmingly. "Let's start with me, then. Truthfully, I'm quite fond of what you have on, but I think it would suit me better – though red is a touch flashy for my taste…"

He lowered his head and held out his arms from his sides and, in the blink of an eye, he was dressed in elegant finery in the same style she now wore, but he'd decided on black with gold fastenings instead, only the sash over his chest reflecting the same shade of crimson as her coat. Upon his head, taking the place of the feral hide, was an ornate wolf mask of shining black jet, speckled around the eye slits with large rubies, paying homage to the depictions of the nightmarish Dread Wolf. If he had hair, it was hidden from view behind the mask which extended behind him and joined in the back, his pointed ears all that was visible to her from the nose up. He'd been mindful to cover from view all that the wolf head had obscured, save for his icy blue eyes, which flashed with an otherworldly, inward glow for a second or two before fading away.

Lavellan stared open-mouthed for longer than she'd intended, taking in this new vision of chivalry before her. "Fen'Harel," she breathed, "you certainly… clean up." An obstruction in her throat forced her to drink deeply from her glass as she hid her spreading flush. She hoped desperately that he didn't notice. _Where the hell is Solas? Deep breaths, Lavellan_ , she steadied herself.

"Yes, well," he admitted, "I see a red coat and I want it to turn black, so…" He brushed the non-existent dust from his golden military pauldron, and his empty glass vanished in his hand as he glanced at it. Turning to her then, he rubbed his black gloves together while he appraised her thoughtfully, spreading his boots shoulder-width apart as his eyes passed over her. "Now, about your dress, _da'len_."

"Oh, I don't think I can top _that_ ," she laughed nervously, picking at her sleeves as she averted her gaze. She detested being scrutinised in this manner, but she saw no way out of it now, and hugged her elbows in front of her. "Honestly, I wore this because I thought it would make it easier for Solas to find me, because I wore this last time we were here, you see, and…" She was babbling, damnit.

Fen'Harel paused in his assessment, meeting her eyes with what she interpreted as a bittersweet expression. "My He-" He tripped over his words and ran a gloved finger over his mouth, holding it there as he composed himself for a time. His mannerisms left Lavellan speechless, her brows raised in bafflement. Why was he acting so peculiar toward her?

"My Herald," he started again softly, "do you truly believe that your man would be able to see anyone in this palace, other than you? You shine more beautifully than all the gold here."

The breath robbed from her, Lavellan stood frozen, his words having penetrated even her strongest defences. It was possibly the sweetest thing she'd ever heard, and it came from the most unexpected source. She could find no words with which to reply, and instead let her arms fall weakly to her sides as she stared into his eyes, feeling the blood rush to her face, the heat radiating enough to water her eyes slightly.

He stepped forward and placed his hands just below her shoulders, running them down her arms carefully. "All right," he whispered hoarsely as the music came back to her ears once the humming of her blood had subsided slightly, "I have just the thing in mind for you. Be still."

She watched in a daze as her fine red coat, pressed trousers, and shined boots were replaced by a shimmering, golden gown. The bodice hugged her snugly, yet remained comfortable, and the billowing skirts hung like drapery down to the marble floor, the petticoat parting in the centre to reveal the brilliant white silk beneath. There were no sleeves or straps to speak of, and white silken gloves ran up her arms and stopped at elbow height. Over her face, she wore a light mask of gold, encrusted with freshwater pearls and white opals in a Dalish pattern. Feeling upward, she took note of the delicate ivory horns that extended nearly a foot from the mask, her hair pinned up in curls.

Lavellan watched Fen'Harel, whom looked her over in turn admiringly. "A halla, of course," she sighed, unable to disguise her dismay. She should have expected the halla mask, to be honest. It was too obvious.

He nodded more to himself than her, pleased with the result of his efforts. " _Hanal'ghilan_ ," he clarified, pride in his eyes as he watched realisation slowly dawn on her face.

Running her hand over the metallic weave fabric, she listened to the subtle clicking of the raindrop pearl trim on her petticoat. "The Pathfinder…"

She took it back. He hadn't just made the most stereotypical comparison he could think of; he'd planned this out with much thought.

He smiled sweetly, a gentle note of embarrassment edging into his voice. " _Hanal'ghilan_ is said to appear during times of great need," he explained. "I can think of no more fitting a metaphor for the Inquisitor, herself."

Blushing profusely, she cleared her throat and tried to cut the tension with a more lighthearted approach. "The golden halla," she smirked in amusement. "And here I thought she was just a mythical creature."

"You also thought _I_ was mythological, if you remember." Fen'Harel adjusted his red sash, pinning it to his shoulder so it wouldn't slip down. "Well, and perhaps we are," he added with a wink. "Come, I'd like to see the gardens. Join me?" From behind his back, he pulled out a white fur capelet, sliding it over her shoulders and standing close enough for her to feel his breath against her cheek as he fixed the clasp at the base of her neck.

"Yeah, I think I could use a little fresh air," she agreed shakily, linking herself to his proffered arm as they headed for the staircase.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

They walked the grounds at a leisurely pace, weaving their way through raised stone planters along cobbled walkways. Fen'Harel obviously admired the scenery she had designed, running his gloved hands through blossoming bushes as they passed by. Lavellan looked up at the night sky, the green glow of the Fade dancing about like northern lights. She could easily spot the silhouette of the ever-present Black City, suspended ominously in the distance.

"So," Fen'Harel cut through the pleasant silence conversationally, "I asked my question, but you said you had some of your own. Was there anything specific you wanted to know?"

In all the goings on, Lavellan had forgotten all too easily the purpose for being here, and she was swallowed by guilt. She grimaced, her gut hollowing unpleasantly. "Yes, actually. Am I to assume… that you didn't find him, after all?" She guessed, anxious to air the disappointing news out in the open.

Stopping their stroll to touch the petals of a large pink rose, he kept his face averted, letting her assumption hang in the air uncomfortably between them for a moment. "I did, in fact," he answered finally, his tone low and apologetic.

That hurt more than if Fen'Harel had said he was unable to locate Solas in time. Worse than that, he had found Solas, and he had wilfully decided against meeting with her. Lavellan felt her heart crushed anew. "Oh... That's… Well then." She turned away suddenly, feeling utterly destroyed. They wouldn't be seeing each other again, after all. It was truly over.

She heard Fen'Harel take a breath behind her, holding it for a time before letting it escape through pursed lips. " _Da'len_ , you must understand… I did find him, but he…" He sighed, taking her hand in his and lifting it to inspect the mark, which once again silently danced to life at his touch. After a moment's hesitation, she felt him settle his mind on a decision. Quietly, he said, "He's waiting for the right moment, and it hasn't yet arrived… But he'll be here. I gave you my word, and I shall honour that."

She breathed a small laugh, despite her swirling emotions. "The Dread Wolf honours his word? That's not what I heard about you."

"I always do," he replied grimly, "but not always in the manner people expect."

"Like with the slow arrow?" She asked warily, recalling Briala to mind.

He sighed heavily, releasing tension in his shoulders as he dropped her hand, the anchor subsiding at the loss of his touch. "Allegory and folk tales," he grimaced. "If you're no longer around to tell your story, history invents one for you."

"So it didn't happen?" Lavellan's eyes widened in surprise.

Fen'Harel closed his eyes, shaking his head solemnly. "It's not so simple; nothing ever is. There is nuance and context that was lost with the retelling. I honoured my word, let us leave it at that."

"Then what is true of what the Dalish say about you?" She pressed him for more. "Someone once told me that something had to exist to start the legends. Now's your chance to salvage something of your reputation to me."

"I already know what you want to ask me, so just ask it and be done with it," he replied gruffly, clearly unhappy with where this was going.

Lavellan's eyes steeled as he raised his gaze to meet hers. "Did you lock the gods away?"

Fen'Harel bit his lip, considering his words carefully, and she held her hand up to stop him in his tracks. "No, I don't want an excuse from you. A simple yes or no will do."

"Why do people insist on simplicity? This is _precisely_ how the truth becomes muddied!" He stepped back from her, exasperated. "This was a bad idea. If all you want is a one-word answer, then the answer is yes, but even those whom appear to do terrible things do so with good intentions in mind! But you wouldn't understand," he dismissed her outright, turning to walk back to the palace without her.

She listened to the click of his boots as they faded away on the cobblestones, his words repeating over and over in her mind. Her conversation with Cole earlier in the day came to her thoughts, and she recalled saying much the same thing to her spirit friend. How could she say one thing to Cole, and then deny Fen'Harel the very thing she'd given fairly to a fictitious character in a book? The word "hypocrite" sprung to mind, and swallowing her Dalish pride, she followed him in the direction he'd made off, the proverbial tail tucked between her legs.

Searching the outcrops and refreshment tables indoors, she finally found him out on a balcony overlooking the gardens, elbows resting on the stone railing. It wasn't just any balcony, but in fact, it was the very balcony where she and Solas had shared their only dance after the assassination attempt on Empress Celine had been thwarted. Well, not the very same balcony, she reminded herself, but the detail was so pure that it may as well have been. Hearing the click of her small heels, Fen'Harel turned his head toward her, and then turned his attention back to the gardens below, allowing her silently to join him once more.

"I'm sorry," she apologised meekly. "You were right… But maybe I would understand, if you only gave me a chance. It's difficult to forget everything I was taught to believe, but I've tried, every day since leaving my clan and discovering the world." She stood next to him awkwardly, fidgeting with a linked bracelet as she offered, "Tell you what: I'll hear you out, this time… I'll keep an open mind, if you want to tell your side of the story."

He lowered his head, adjusting the mask as he let out a resigned sigh. "No, _I_ should apologise. It's true, what they say, to some extent... I should not be so quick to justify my actions... I thought it would be better ultimately, for everyone," he confessed, turning about to lean on the railing and cross his arms over his chest, "but I was wrong, and I've spent the better part of my long life trying to put things back the way they were… And I somehow manage to make it worse, every single time."

He shook his head and sighed ruefully to himself. "Have you ever woken up to find the world you left behind in a state of unfathomable chaos? And everyone you met thought it was entirely your fault, trying to kill you on sight, when all the while you were the only one that could truly set things right again?"

Lavellan shifted her weight onto her hip, placing her hand there, and stared at him for a long moment, a knowing smirk on her face. "Maybe just the once," she muttered sardonically.

Fen'Harel laughed despite himself. "Yes, well, I suppose you can sympathise to some degree." He straightened, taking her hands in his and squeezing them urgently. "But you managed to fix that mistake! A mistake that was m – that... wasn't even yours to begin with."

Releasing her, he rubbed the back of his neck, lost in deep thought. "That is why I wanted to reward you. Because I admire you… You did what I could not."

She adjusted her capelet, fighting off the chill that ached her bones. "Sweet talker," she smiled at him, looking out over the garden once more before heading back inside.

Surely enough, he followed behind her, the rift between them closed.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

How did one get tipsy off of Fade wine? Nevertheless, it had happened to both of them, and Lavellan and Fen'Harel giggled together on a velvet bench as they clinked their glasses in a silent toast, overlooking the dancers on the ballroom floor later in the evening. She never thought to find herself enjoying the company of the Dread Wolf so much that she didn't care what else happened that night.

"Yes, but," she started again, grinning profusely, "but _why_?"

"Because I could," he answered truthfully, drinking a mouthful before leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees. "The Creators were not always good, _lethallan,_ nor were the Forgotten Ones entirely bad. People are complicated!"

"Are _gods_ complicated?" She nudged him playfully, careful not to spill wine on her skirts.

"Are they _actually_ gods? I mean in the colloquial sense, of course," he reasoned, eyeing the chandelier unsteadily. "Why should I have picked a side? Why _not_ both?"

"Well, I'm sure they were complicated beings," she admitted, "but if the Forgotten Ones were evil – "

"But _were_ they?"

"Oh, _here_ we go," she rolled her eyes, though she was thoroughly enjoying their conversation.

"Seriously now," he waved a hand in dismissal of her sarcastic tone. "Tell me, _da'len_ , do you believe murder is immoral?"

She scoffed at that. "Of course it is, Dread Wolf! Leave it to _you_ not to believe that!"

Ignoring the verbal jab, Fen'Harel pressed on, undaunted. "Picture this," he said, leaning close and waving a hand, bringing her attention to something that was indeed not there. "You're standing on a large platform above a road upon a hill. Suddenly, a caravan comes careening uncontrollably down the road in front of you. With you stands a bulky qunari, nearing three meters in height. He's large enough that, if pushed off the platform, he will stop the caravan, but in the process, will be killed... Do you push him to his death?"

"No, never," she laughed, as if this was even a legitimate dilemma. "Why kill him? Nothing is at stake!"

"Oh, _never_ , is it? Then let's raise the stakes," he grinned maliciously, leaning back to finish the rest of his glass and carelessly throwing it against the back wall so it shattered, startling the noblewomen gathered there. He leaned back in as she giggled, her hand over her mouth at his behaviour.

"You turn around, and below you on the other side of the platform are, say, ten deaf children, playing happily in the road, blissfully unaware. There's no way to warn them of the coming danger, and they will all die horribly unless you act."

"Well, _that_ escalated quickly," she pouted, finishing her wine. She turned to him, propping her head on her hand against the back of the bench as a group walked past them. "I choose to throw myself, then," she challenged his premise, searching blindly for a loophole.

He smiled at her attempt, but cut her line of thinking short with a waggle of his finger. "That's a noble sentiment, indeed, but you are far too small! The caravan would simply roll right over you, killing you _and_ the children..." She caught him eyeing her up and down beneath the mask as he smirked. "That would only... compound the tragedy... No, it must be the qunari; it's the only way."

"That's not _fair_ ," she argued her stance, still wrestling with this dark hypothetical question of morality.

"Welcome to life," he smiled back, rising up to quickly retrieve another wine glass, bringing the bottle back with him. "Time is running out, _lethallan_ ," he reminded her, not letting it fall by the wayside. "Do you kill the qunari and save ten children, or spare the qunari and allow them all to perish in the impending crash?"

She mulled the question over as he refilled her glass, but he refused to leave her enough time to think. "Hesitate, and you will be too late," he rasped, increasing the pressure. "Here comes the caravan…! _Three…Two…One…"_

"Okay, _yes_ , damn you" she finally blurted, flustered by his insistence. "Yes, I'd push the qunari!"

"Ah," he sighed victoriously, retaking his seat beside her and draping an arm over her shoulders, "but I thought you just said that murder was immoral! Why did you decide to commit it?"

Lavellan slumped back, conceding the debate, foreseeing where he was going with all of this. "I had to. There wasn't enough time to weigh the moral consequences," she reasoned, feeling somewhat down about her admission. "It was one life or ten, and I chose to save ten."

"Hmm," Fen'Harel mused, sipping the wine carefully and smacking his lips after he swallowed. "Interesting…"

"I think I'm beginning to understand your position," she said, putting down her glass. Fade wine or not, she'd exceeded her limit.

"If you want to understand it even further," he bit disdainfully, "imagine the news spreading the next day, running with the headline, 'Evil Woman Pushes Qunari from Platform, Killed by Passing Caravan', and not once is it ever mentioned that the children were spared a horrific fate."

He looked at her then, shrugging in conclusion. "I don't believe in moral absolutes, _da'len_. Each situation, each circumstance in time, must be measured in its context. Sometimes a gentle approach can be taken, but at times, it may be necessary to apply force to achieve the desired result. Some have called that ruthless of me… I suppose there's an element of that that I cannot deny."

Lavellan nodded in comprehension, but posited another avenue of thought. "What of compromise, then?"

"If such a deal can be struck, then certainly; I don't see why not," he relented slightly. "That takes a special kind of person to mediate between two opposing forces, though. I see you're a bit of an idealist, then?"

"I prefer 'optimist', actually," she said, feigning offence, but smirking nonetheless. "You seem to be more on the fatalistic end of the spectrum."

"I prefer the term 'realistic', but with me, the two often go hand-in-hand…" He polished off the last of his wine, gently placing the glass on the floor instead of flinging it this time, and leaned back, enjoying the lull in their conversation and basking in the glow of dozens of candles overhead.

Thinking to herself, she examined the hypothetical situation he presented, wondering if it could be expanded upon. "In theory, Dread Wolf, you could add an unending stream of mitigating circumstances to your moral conundrum… For instance, what if the qunari is terminally ill? Or to go the other way, what if he's the Arishok, and his death will bring an invasion to your doorstep? What if he is a close friend of yours?"

He leaned his head back, an amorous air taking over his body language. "Oh, _asha_ ," Fen'Harel said, his voice low and sultry, "are you _trying_ to seduce me? Don't encourage me; I could wax philosophical all night long."

The strings of the orchestra began a new tune, and with it, he rose to his feet, holding his hand out for her to take. "Come, _lethallan_ ," he implored her, "they're playing our song!"

She recognised the melody plainly enough from her time spent at Herald's Rest in Skyhold, though Maryden wasn't here to sing the lyrics. "We don't have a song, Dread Wolf," she dismissed him, suddenly anxious as she gripped the velvet cushion beneath her.

He waved his other hand at her abruptly. "Oh, you pedant," he hushed her teasingly, "then I choose this one." At the arch of her brow, he smiled softly in return, tilting his head like a sad mabari. "Indulge me; it's not often I allow myself such pleasures, and you have given me many memorable ones, this evening. Let us have just this one more, before the night is over… Please, _lethallan_ …"

Lavellan listened to the orchestra play on, meeting Fen'Harel's cool blue gaze. Though she didn't much care for dancing, she could tell that he certainly did, which surprised her anew. Laying her hand in his, she rose from her seat, not breaking her stare as she unfastened her capelet and left it behind on the cushion. Something was familiar about those lovely eyes. "I did not expect the god of tricks would be one for dancing," she breathed with a mock tone of regal elegance.

Gliding gracefully down the staircase hand-in-hand, he replied, "You be the judge of whether my dancing is a trick or a skill, _lethallan_ …" He guided her gently, helping her down as she raised her golden skirts slightly so as not to trip. Once they reached the marble floor, joining the other pairs just on the outside of their patterned waltz, he pulled her intimately close, resting his hand on her lower back and raising their clasped hands up. "Shall we?" He asked, his breath shallow. She was close enough to him now to feel his heart racing.

Lavellan felt the tension rise exponentially between them, and again attempted to diffuse it with a smirk. "Well, I don't remember my Keeper ever warning me never to let the Dread Wolf hear my _dance_ steps, so I suppose we shall."

She watched the nature of his smile change subtly, and he ran his thumb along her lower spine, giving her chills that she understood all too well. "Don't worry yourself… My days of hunting halla are long over, given what happened the last time I tried." He leaned in close to her ear, his breath brushing past her hair. "Though, if _you_ forced me to serve in your bed for a year and a day… Let's just say, _asha_ , that I would not be so quick to chew through my bonds, this time." And with that, he looked up, perfectly gauging the timing of their entrance into the waltz, and stepped in.

He was a strong leader on the ballroom floor, and he knew the steps better than she. Feeling as though she was being pulled in by a riptide, Lavellan followed the current where he led her, turning with him and doing her best to avoid crushing his toes. After the first go around the floor, though, she had enough confidence to relax herself and enjoy the dance. All the while, he kept his gaze upon her, the sad smile on his face speaking to hidden thoughts going on behind his eyes.

"What is it, Dread Wolf?" She wondered, her gloved hand resting on the back of his neck.

He turned her to the centre of the floor, and with a thought, he dismissed the other dancers, leaving them as the only pair, now with a watchful audience. "Do you know this song, _emma lath?_ "

"Yes," she answered, taken aback at the new endearment by which he addressed her. She half-expected Solas to walk in from the vestibule and catch her in a relatively intimate moment with another man. And not just any man, but an immortal elven god, at that. "I've… heard it played in my former keep…"

"The lyrics are particularly poignant," he told her, just above a whisper. "They were originally in Elvish, but it was translated for those not familiar with the speech of the People." Leaning in closer still, his arm tightening around her, he quietly sang in his low, sad voice, the orchestra reaching a crescendo pitch.

" _I am the one…. Who can recount what we've lost… I am the one… Who will live on…_ "

Her mouth opened slightly in astonishment as she heard the verse in a new light, and she met his eyes, seeing the spark of melancholy return to them. How long had he lived alone with such heartache? How much longer still would he have to recount it all to himself? Would he remain thousands of years from now, to see the end of time itself?

Or would he bring on the destruction of the world, intentionally or not?

Lavellan shuddered briefly, but felt drawn to him regardless of her fear at the thought. With those eyes of his, he held her closer than any dance could bring them. Those wise, sad, blue eyes…

The song drew to a close, and he turned on his heel, bringing her into a slow dip. The intensity of her stare and the bolt of recognition that surged between them caused him to pause for a long moment, the look they exchanged one of stunned uncertainty.

And after a moment's final decision, Fen'Harel wrapped his arms around Lavellan, turned his head just so, and brushed his lips against hers softly before gathering her into a gentle yet insistent kiss. He pulled her upright, holding her tightly to him, unable to will himself to let her go. Lavellan didn't fight it, but nor did she welcome his advances, and after he loosened his passionate embrace in contentment momentarily, she pulled away, opening her eyes.

The mask was gone from her face.

As was his.

She turned her head slightly in confusion. Directly before her, in the very same finery he'd worn all evening, stood Solas, a look of anxiety, anticipation, and adoration dancing across his eyes, yet his face remained utterly still, waiting for her reaction, whatever it would be.

Angry tears burned her eyes, and she shook her head slowly from side to side. "Oh, Fen'Harel," she managed through the pain in her throat, "this is your cruelest trick, yet… How could you?"

When he continued to stare at her, not quite comprehending her meaning, she took the opportunity to step away from his arms, the Grand Ballroom around them void of all sound. "I asked to see Solas before I die, Dread Wolf… I didn't think you would stoop so low as to take his form and attempt to steal me for yourself. I'd hoped you would not try to deceive me in the end, but – "

Glancing slightly away, he began to follow her thought process as she spoke, and as his eyes took on a sympathetic look of extreme pity, Lavellan's words cut off in her throat. Her mind began to urge her to connect synapses that had never crossed paths before, to put two and two together.

Or in this case, one and one. "Solas?"

" _Vhenan_ ," Fen'Harel said with Solas' voice, inflection, tone, eyes… And for the first time, Lavellan's blood ran cold as she understood why it all had felt so familiar to her.

"No," she whispered, her eyes widening in shock and denial. Her heart nearly stopped as the revelation hit her fully, and her hand moved involuntarily over it on her chest. " _No_ , don't do this to me… Tell me it's not _true_ , Solas," she gasped, her knees weak as she backed away further. "You told me the Dread Wolf didn't _exist_!"

He swallowed hard, his face straining to keep from showing his sheer desolation. " _Vhenan_ … I said no such thing…"

She felt numb all over, the betrayal so strong that she couldn't comprehend the vastness of it all quite yet. " _Solas_ ," she cried, a tear running down her face, though the rest of her words lodged hard in her throat. She couldn't accept, wouldn't accept, that since the very beginning, the quiet, unassuming elf by her side, helping her seal the breach in the –

"Wait," Lavellan blurted, the true depth of his betrayal coming to light. "Corypheus' orb – the one that you wanted, the one you said was dedicated to an elven god… That was _your_ orb?!" She paused, looking down at the anchor in her hand, a sick realisation overwhelming her yet again. "I touched it, and it gave me this mark. That's why you joined us... _You_ kept me alive only to fix your _fucking_ problems! You tried to get the orb back for _yourself_ , but it broke… And now the mark is killing me."

She glared at him then, her accusation and disgust written plainly on her face. " _Your_ mark."

Fen'Harel, or Solas, or whoever he really was, watched helplessly as the romantic reunion he had worked so hard to craft spun out of his grasp and crumbled around him as though it had never truly existed. He could say nothing in his defence, and instead reached a feeble hand toward her in silent misery.

She suddenly stepped forward and shocked him with a hard slap across his face, stinging his cheek as well as shattering his heart. He did nothing to stop her.

Racing away, Lavellan shot up the stairs, rounding them and throwing open the doors to the vestibule, making her way down flight after flight until she emerged outside the palace, away from the place of true nightmares, tears streaming down her face and blurring her vision.

" _Wake up_ ," she screamed to herself, running as fast as her legs would carry her.

Running, once more, in absolute horror.

Running from her love, the Dread Wolf.


	15. Part Five: The Spirit Within

It was a relatively uneventful night in the Emerald Graves for Cole. After an hour spent serenely next to the warm fire, he had risen with his friend in his arms and laid her down to sleep soundly on her makeshift cot, draping Cullen's signature red cloak over her before tucking the wool blankets around her tightly. He placed a few candles off to the side in case she awoke, and set the little wolf figure out to keep watch while he had gone to leave his nightly gifts on the patrol path for the Inquisition soldiers. Traipsing through the dense forest for a time, passing wild animals and giants alike without so much as receiving a passing glance from them, he went to his usual boulder by the path and posed two of his creations, one a bearded mage, wooden staff in hand, the other a long-haired templar, her bark shield strapped to her back and holding a longsword.

He posed them with their hands joined in a gesture of unity and love, looking at them fondly in the quiet moments just before dawn. They made a handsome couple, Rhys and Evangeline… Maybe they could set an example for mages and templars everywhere. He remembered that they now worked with Cullen's forces, and hoped they were out there somewhere, looking after one another. And he silently hoped they hadn't forgotten him. He knew he certainly would never forget them.

The twittering songs of waking birds reminded Cole of the time, and he walked back quietly, thinking to himself along the way. Lavellan slept more than she was awake these days, but thankfully, tonight had been one of her better nights. She slept so peacefully, in fact, that he began to second guess himself for summoning Solas when he did. Hopefully yesterday's events had been a fluke, and she would recover a bit of the strength she had lost. Maybe after tonight's rest, she would gain some of her appetite back, as well. He resolved to head back to camp and reheat the stew for her breakfast. If she showed signs of improvement, it might not be too late to tell Solas he didn't need to come, yet. He was likely coming from far away, and could be told to wait just a bit longer.

The camp remained undisturbed, and after parting the vines over the small cave entrance and finding her motionless in her cot, Cole returned to the smoldering fire, placing dry logs to catch and replacing the cauldron on its iron stand.

As he did so, though, he heard the swell of voices echoing in his head, and paused in alarm. They were loud, louder than they had ever been before, and it sent all his senses on high alert within him. Whatever they were saying, they were fervent and demanding. Raising his head, he waited, holding his breath as he strained over the noise to listen for Lavellan. Sure enough, he could hear a cry beyond the shouting, and he raced headlong into the cave to see what was amiss.

She was lying half off the cot, jerking in her sleep the way people sometimes did in the throes of a nightmare, crying out in distress, yet unable to awaken. Kneeling next to her, he pulled the tangle of blankets down and held her face gently with his hands, leaning in close. "Lavellan," he whispered cautiously. When she didn't respond, he repeated himself more urgently. Perhaps she was like him, and had a hard time hearing over the insistent voices from the Well.

"Wake up," he shook her gently, slapping her cheek lightly to bring her around. "It's just a dream, you'll be all right… _Lavellan_ …?"

In an instant, she practically screamed in his ear, which roused her in a panic. She sat up with a jolt, nearly colliding with Cole, and he fell back, catching himself with his palms, startled by her sudden movement. Lavellan sat up, gasping for breath as she glanced around the cave with terrified eyes. Not quite awake yet, he guessed.

When her sleepy gaze rested near the candles, she spotted the little wolf Cole had placed there and screamed once more in anguish, throwing her hand out in front of her. A ball of flame flew from her hand as she pressed herself against the cave wall. The wolf caught fire easily, the dry twigs consumed by the blaze as it flew back heedlessly toward the vines. Gasping, Cole raced for it as it skidded along the floor and stopped it short with his boot before it could reach the vines and spread. He stamped it out hurriedly, then stood over it, the wolf nothing more than a smoking pile of ruins, now.

Lavellan shook, her panic from before subsiding into a devastating fear, and she fought back the sobs in her throat as she gasped for breath. Something was horribly wrong.

Cole walked toward her, his hand out before him in an attempt to steady her nerves. The voices within her went silent for now, and he sighed in relief. "A-A-Are you awake now?" He stammered, nonplussed by her reaction. She'd never awakened from sleep like this before. "It's me, Cole… Do you remember?"

She met his eyes, so full of despair and confusion that he was taken aback for a moment. Reaching out for her with his mind to calm her, he heard her terrified thoughts and stopped dead, staring at her with his mouth agape.

"You _know_ ," he breathed in total shock, his eyes round.

Lavellan's eyes widened as she returned the stare, her gasps halting in her throat once she comprehended his meaning. "You _knew?_ " She asked incredulously, anger in her tone.

"Yes," he answered calmly, feeling the full impact of her few words. She was upset with him for not telling her, and he flinched at the thoughts flashing through her mind. He hoped she wouldn't act on them. They were violent thoughts.

Instead, she let out a mad sort of cackle, beside herself with heated frustration. "Of _course_ you knew," she repeated over and over as she began to pace the back wall with large, quick steps, her hands running through her tangled blonde hair.

"You're angry with me?" He asked, knowing the answer already.

She turned suddenly to face him, forcing herself to take deep, calming breaths. "No," she lied, "but I… have to get out of here… I need to go for a walk. Alone." Without saying anything more in explanation, she strode out of the cave in a flurry of intense emotions.

Cole followed after her on her heels. "But Lavellan, you're not well, and the wolves aren't finished hunting for the night!"

" _Fuck_ wolves," she seethed with rage, storming off through the trees. " _Fuck_ them all, the lying bastards! Right in their blighted, treacherous, no-good…" Her voice faded in the distance, a muffled stream of obscenities coursing from her mouth as she went. She made no sense.

Lavellan was looking for a fight, and if she wasn't careful, she was going to find one. As he watched her go, he glanced about the cave entrance, wondering what he ought to do. Cole quickly set his mind to catch up with Lavellan, despite her clear desire to be on her own with her racing thoughts. Before setting off in the direction she'd taken, though, he had the forethought to run back into the cave to retrieve her fire staff for her.

He knew this part of the forest as well as, if not better than, the abandoned passageways beneath the White Spire, and intuitively, he also knew where she was headed, even if she didn't. Taking the shortcut, he weaved in and out of the trees and slipped silently through the near darkness, though he could have done so with his eyes closed, his memory of this area being what it was. The birds had gone unnervingly quiet, as they tended to do in the presence of predators, and Cole picked up his pace, heeding their warning.

He found her just where he'd predicted she would be, standing at the base of the wolf monument near their home and staring up at its raised head with a well of emotions behind her eyes. All seemed peaceful on this chilly, dewy morning as she shook her head slowly in desperation, fighting back her tears. Cole could see her pain, an all-consuming, obtrusive black ball of sadness in her chest, but didn't understand why Solas being an old elf was so troublesome to her. Maybe she felt it was dishonest of him not to mention it, or because he had become so infamous over time. Whatever the reason, she was grief-stricken over the revelation, and Cole wondered how exactly she had come to discover the truth.

She let out a heartbreaking cry after a minute and picked up a loose rock from the ground, hurling it full force at the beast's snout, where it took the abuse in stoic, unblinking silence. Apparently not garnering the reaction she'd hoped for, she stormed up to it and stood on her toes on the base, reaching up with her good arm to tear down the floral wreath from its smooth crown.

"Hey," Cole cried, dropping the staff and coming to her side. He wrapped his arms about her middle to pull her back down safely. "You can't hurt him, Lavellan! He's made of stone!"

She fought in his grasp, furious tears streaming down her sunken cheeks. "Let me go," she thrashed about, prying free of his grasp. "Why didn't you _tell_ me, Cole?! All this time, you _knew_ , and you said _nothing_ to me! You're supposed to be my friend!" He could sense immediately that, thankfully, she wasn't truly upset with him, but was lashing out indiscriminately in utter turmoil.

"Lavellan, I didn't think you would be – "

Cole caught the footsteps signalling their fast approach before they came into view, swinging about to find a pack of eight large, snarling wolves, standing with their teeth bared as they stalked toward the pair, growling with hatred and hunger in their eyes.

Lavellan reached a trained hand behind her back, and found to her shock and dismay that she had gone out into the forest unarmed. "Ah, _great_ ," she reprimanded herself harshly under her breath, reaching deep down to summon all the mana she could muster.

Disappearing in a dark cloud, the wolves momentarily pausing in confusion, Cole moved swiftly for the enchanted staff he'd dropped on the ground and swiped it up handily. " _Catch_ ," he called out to Lavellan as he threw it toward her, and she turned in the nick of time to grab the staff in mid-air, causing her to laugh maniacally in the same way the Iron Bull used to before a fight for which he was itching. She was hungry for blood, and it scared Cole.

The largest of the wolves, the alpha, barked in signal to his pack, and as one unit, they again pressed toward their perceived prey. Cole rolled forward and fell into a crouch in front of Lavellan as he simultaneously drew his wicked daggers, preparing to absorb the brunt of their attack while she kept back and fought at range. This was going to be difficult, but if they felled him, she might have a chance to run for it – if she wasn't too homicidal at the moment to think clearly.

Suddenly they were bathed in a shimmering white barrier, and Cole shot Lavellan a startled glance. "Did _you_ do that?" He asked in surprise.

She appeared to be as taken aback by the spell as he was, and had just enough time to shake her head in denial before the wolves set upon them, yellow teeth bared in malice.

An enormous, disembodied green fist came barrelling from behind them, punching the alpha-male squarely in his fangs and sending him tumbling backward. Those wolves nearest him staggered and fell to the ground around him, and taking advantage of their weakened state, Cole and Lavellan went on the offensive before they could recover.

Cole made quick work of those on the forest floor, his blades piercing their furred flesh, and Lavellan set fire to their coats with her staff, causing them to howl in rage. Though the others leaped on him in revenge, their fangs came down harmlessly on the barrier around Cole's skin. He swiped at them defensively, rolling to their flanks and stabbing upward into their soft underbellies. All around him, magic flew dangerously past, ice and fire weakening the beasts enough for him to strike the killing blows.

He counted the bodies as they fell slowly, one after another, until amazingly none were left standing save the alpha-wolf. Enraged, the feral beast lunged for Lavellan, and Cole turned in pursuit in time to see a hooded figure appear out of the shadows from behind his friend.

As she thrust her staff out before her, setting the wolf alight, the unknown mage stepped out in front of her and laid his fingertips on his forehead. A blast burst violently from his mind, shoving the enraged animal back with magical force, and he struggled on the ground as he snarled and rose for another attack.

" _Away with you_ ," the hooded man commanded the wolf as he shot it once more with frost from his glowing staff. With that, the beast collapsed. He was frozen solid, and didn't move again, lying dead on the ground at Cole's feet.

Lavellan stood panting for a brief time before dropping her staff and walking to Cole's side, her hand on her strained shoulder. "I'm sorry," she offered him in apology, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine. This blood isn't mine," Cole said, patting his arms and chest as he checked for wounds. "They couldn't bite. The barrier protected me."

Lavellan nodded to herself, running a hand through her hair in relief. Once she registered his words, though, she turned to face the newcomer. "Thanks for – "

He was watching them with caution, his body stiff as he stood before them, a critical look on his face. "It seems it is good fortune I arrived when I did," he nodded once in Cole's direction.

"Solas!" Cole beamed, walking up to the robed elf and wrapping him in a tight embrace. "That was fast," he mumbled into his friend's shoulder. "Thank you for coming."

Solas patted his back lightly in turn, but Cole could feel the tension coursing through him as he did so, and he pulled back from the greeting as he felt Lavellan's hard gaze upon his back like a cold ball of fire. He stood off to the side from the two of them so they formed a neat triangle, their unspoken thoughts battering Cole's senses.

Lavellan radiated with a mixed jumble of heavy emotions, the deafening roar of her hurt written plainly on her heart as she openly glared at Solas, who stood silently waiting, his expression softening under her intense stare into something resembling a plea for forgiveness and understanding. Unfortunately, she was still too riled up from her abrupt awakening and the following battle to relent.

"Well, speak of the devil," she uttered harshly, barely louder than a whisper as her voice croaked under the strain of her hidden grief. "What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

Cole's fair brows shot up under his drooping hat. "What do you mean?" He asked, thoroughly puzzled by her question. Didn't she know? She'd said she was aware of Solas' pending arrival at dinner last night… Hadn't she?

Solas looked at Cole, mildly perplexed by Lavellan's ignorance of the situation. "Did you not tell her about our deal, Cole?"

"You're _hardly_ one to accuse him of not telling me things," she cut in with an angry, ragged sob as Cole's mouth opened to reply. She bristled, her eyes shooting daggers every which way, causing the spirit to flinch in response.

It was all beginning to overwhelm him as he suddenly felt very much responsible for her horror and outrage. "I should have said something," Cole said honestly, "but I'd hoped we might not need his help… And then I thought you knew, because you said…" He faltered, realising he hadn't read her properly over the voices residing in her mind, shaming him. "I thought that you… heard my thoughts," he confessed sadly.

"I meant I was going to see him in the Fade," Lavellan clarified, her tone betraying her own remorse with the whole misunderstanding. "When did you ask him to come?" She asked, her pitch rising uncontrollably as she gestured in frank displeasure, turning slightly away to hide the tears she fought desperately to control.

"When death was close," Cole replied with a meek shrug.

"No, I m-meant," she stammered, wincing at his choice of words, "I meant – have you been talking to him all this time and not telling me about it, Cole…?" Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the unmistakable glimmer of the anchor on her hand ebbing soundlessly to life, and tucked it out of view behind her back.

Cole exchanged a wary look with Solas at sight of the mark's return, a sinking feeling tearing through his spirit.

"Not exactly," Solas answered for him, prepared to bear the brunt of her outrage. "He asked me to come some time ago in the Fade, and I agreed to see what could be done for your… condition." The look the elven man shot Cole then was one that communicated Solas still anticipated him to honour his end of the bargain. Cole gulped audibly in response, deciding now was not the time to argue.

Disgusted, Lavellan scoffed, cradling her hand as it began to crackle and hiss threateningly. "I'm really starting to _hate_ the Fade, right about now," she gritted through her teeth as her breath quickened.

The mark was stinging her, and Cole was filled with dread. It had flared up yesterday afternoon, and now again as the sky was beginning to lighten with the new day. That was far too soon; she shouldn't have the onset of another flare-up for at least five more days.

 _The stress_ , Cole realised, disheartened. He'd worked so hard to keep their lives as carefree as possible. She had even started to show signs of stabilising. But now, all his efforts to soothe her had gone up in smoke, and it dawned on him helplessly that he'd caused it in part by calling this very meeting.

Solas' eyes passed over Lavellan's bare arm in guarded concern. "Perhaps we should head back to your… settlement," he fixed on the word, not quite aware of how they'd been living. "The anchor seems to be awakening."

"Yeah, no shit," Lavellan spat, doubled over in pain and holding her arm tightly against her body. She trudged forward in her hunched state and bent down to retrieve her staff, straightening as best she could manage and using the long, sturdy weapon as a crutch. "Come along _, Dread Wolf_."

As she slowly headed back in the direction of the cave along the beaten path, Cole moved to her side, catching up with her easily enough. She wasn't making much progress at all. "Do you need help?"

" _No_ ," she pushed away his proffered hand, determined to see to herself. She didn't want to appear weak to either of them, Cole heard her think, despite her agony now. " _Neither_ of you touch me! I'm _hardly_ incapable of -"

The anchor exploded without warning in a violent volley of coursing energy, leaping up her arm with an intensity that shocked them all and lit up the forest around them. The Veil shook around Cole and he cried out, falling as the intensity struck him down. In absolute torture, Lavellan fell to her knees, clutching the offending arm as her fingers stretched and curled in a wretched spasm, her nerve endings on fire as she collapsed on her side.

" _Lavellan!_ " Cole leaned her up and held her steady as her consciousness waned precariously on the edge of a black void, her head spinning in dizziness on her slumping shoulders.

Solas watched the proceedings in morbid fascination at witnessing firsthand the toll the anchor was taking and the intensity of its power within her. Though he tried to will himself to move forward, he was paralysed on the spot, unable to react as his face blanched in shock. He had known that she was dying from it, but seeing was truly believing. Solas hadn't known just how slow and agonising a death it was turning out to be for Lavellan until that moment, standing in front of the monument of the wolf, his monument, which looked on at the scene below and did about as much as Solas himself did to help.

"Cole… Don't…" Lavellan's eyes rolled back into her skull as her head lolled dangerously, lapsing into unconsciousness.

Cole lowered her to the grass in a practised, ritual panic, looking up at the man standing off to the side uselessly. "Solas, get water!"

Solas couldn't respond immediately, staring dumbfounded in a daze at the elven woman now out cold on the forest floor. He blinked hard to call his attention back, urging himself to move toward them, and knelt next to the body, opposite Cole. "What?" He asked, not understanding. "What for, why do you want -"

"Just _do it_ ," Cole insisted, patently annoyed with his lack of urgency.

Reaching for his belt, Solas unfixed his personal canteen and quickly handed it over, watching as Cole dumped the contents onto her glowing arm. "What are you doing?" He asked, coming back round fully and taking the empty container from Cole's hand.

He didn't respond, and instead picked her arm up by the wrist and moved it away from her torso, muttering gentle phrases under his breath as he began to massage the injured area.

Shaking his head, Solas took on an air of condescension as he hurriedly informed the spirit of the obvious. "What is afflicting her isn't physical; it is _magical_ in nature, and no amount of water or rubbing will cause it to subside! This is a wasted effort!"

"I _know_ that," Cole rounded on him defensively, the daylight fading in slowly around them, "but it makes her _feel_ better! It makes _me_ feel better, like I'm doing something for her, even if it doesn't really help!" He turned his attention back to his work with renewed vigour, careful not to meet his friend's critical stare. "She's upset and panicked. If she's not calm then she'll go floppy again, and this time she'll die… It's soothing, sincere, a serene sort of sentiment… It keeps her calm. It keeps us both calm," he admitted bitterly.

Solas, humbled by the correction, paused briefly before uttering a simple, "Oh," in response, nodding his acquiescence. So he was willing to admit Cole had things under control, after all…

The silence around them expanded and grew as they anxiously looked for signs of improvement. They waited for an agonisingly long time under the shelter of the branches, hunched together on the chilly earth, listening for a shift in breathing patterns, movement behind her eyelids, or twitching of any kind…

Nothing happened.

Cole gave voice to his frustrations suddenly. "I know what you did, Solas. Why did you choose now, of all times to do it?" He asked heatedly as he loosened her stiff fingers, the energy passing through his hand as he did so. "You knew it would hurt her – that's why you didn't want to tell her the truth before – but you decided _now_ was the right time?"

"You do not need to trouble yourself with this, Cole," Solas said evenly, a pang of regret in his tone. "You should leave, soon… I can take over from here."

Feeding off Lavellan's earlier anger, Cole finished the treatment and countered, "You think you know everything, but you _are_ capable of being wrong, Solas! You were supposed to _help_ her, but you made it all worse!"

Solas grimaced subtly, but the hurt was plainly evident behind his shining eyes. Cole had struck a nerve, and right now, he didn't much care for his friend's feelings on the matter.

Thinking quickly, he removed the large brimmed hat from his head. "Give me your robe," he demanded, holding the hat out toward him.

Confused but compliant, Solas untied his sash and handed the garment over, and Cole traded him the hat. "Put it on. The soldiers can't see me." Solas placed the hat upon his smooth head, covering the telltale elven ears effectively. "There," Cole nodded, slipping the black robe over Lavellan in reverse so it wrapped around her like a blanket with sleeves. "Now pick her up and follow me back."

Solas obeyed, seeing the rationality behind Cole's plan, and bent her knees up to scoop his arm beneath her legs, cradling her head against his knitted ivory tunic as he lifted her up gently. Cole observed the disconcerted surprise dance across the elven man's features upon noting the ease with which she was lifted, and only then did Solas register her drawn cheekbones, ashen skin, and sinking, dark eyelids. Even in the lack of good lighting, he could see that her condition was grave.

Cole led the way forward through the towering trees, detecting at one point the sound of clanking heavy armour nearby. Though the soldiers had been relatively unaware of Cole's presence all this time, he silently hoped that, if spotted, they wouldn't find it too alarming to see an unknown figure in the dim morning light wearing his favourite hat and carrying the Inquisitor back home – if they remembered him at all at this point, he reminded himself anxiously. Hopefully they would be too taken with the small gifts left on their path to notice.

Solas held Lavellan's head against his chest protectively, following close behind and careful not to make more noise than was absolutely necessary. As the hulking steps of the patrol trailed off in the distance, Cole breathed a heavy sigh of cautious relief, picking up their pace to avoid further near-confrontations, holding the staves to conceal them.

After a short time, they passed into the clearing of their cosy, secluded campsite, and Cole once again took direct charge of the situation, setting the staves inside the cave and coming back out to find Solas awaiting his direction.

"There, by the fire," Cole ordered curtly as he removed the cauldron from the flames, its contents boiling over onto the hissing wood. The stew had been burned, he thought regretfully. He'd have to dump it and start another batch for when Lavellan regained consciousness. She had to eat something, or she'd waste away before Solas could examine her properly, or more likely, before the mark even had a chance to kill her. _Which death is worse?_ He wondered mournfully, his outlook becoming fairly bleak.

He turned to find Solas attempting to lay Lavellan near the fire on her left side, and instantly, Cole saw red. Dropping what he was doing, he was at the woman's side in two long strides, pushing Solas back against the outside wall of the cave without an instant's hesitation.

" _What are you -!_ " Solas protested, glaring at the unexpected force being used against him.

Cole gingerly picked Lavellan up off the cold ground and placed her comfortably back in Solas' arms. "No! You will _not_ push her aside like an experiment gone wrong," he put his foot down, kneeling into his friend's face, a dangerous flash of warning in his pale eyes. "You are here to _help_ , Solas, not to keep your distance. Hold her. Keep her warm and calm. Say words of kindness to her."

Solas was clearly shocked at the role Cole had assumed in his absence. Not one to be pushed around, literally or figuratively, he shook his head defiantly. "I do not see why you cannot be the one to offer her comfort."

"Nor I you," Cole rebutted, rising to the occasion. He pulled the hat down slightly to cover Solas' furrowed brow. "Hide your face in case anyone sees you. I have to fetch water and put another pot on the fire."

" _I_ can do that! You look after her instead," Solas objected, pushing the brim of the hat up.

Cole pulled it back down, undaunted. "You don't understand, do you?" He asked incredulously, pressing the issue. "The Inquisition is _looking_ for you! They would take you back to Skyhold and ask what you knew about the orb, and they wouldn't ask nicely! Now, please stay safe and watch over her. I'll be back."

"Cole -"

"I promised that I would protect her, even from you," Cole interrupted mournfully, shaking his head in sadness and retrieving the cauldron. "But you're my friend, too, and I have to protect you, as well… Even if you're too proud to accept that."

Solas watched in silence as Cole walked south in the direction of the stream. Then, as an afterthought, Cole turned back to camp and stood next to him, leaning down to Solas' level as he pointed with a finger of warning, his tone deathly serious. "And don't you dare hurt her while I'm gone, or you won't be my friend anymore, and I will cut your throat."

And with that, Cole headed off again for fresh water, purpose in his steps.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

Since that evening in the grove, Solas had suffered in isolated silence, the need to hold her again an ever-present ache that never quite relented in its vast emptiness. He'd had so much snatched away from him over the expanse of history that he had hardened himself to the sting of loss, becoming callous merely to protect himself from acknowledging the loneliness. He'd stood for thousands of years against gods, armies, dragons, and men alike, all in the noble struggle to restore what was gone from the world, not taking pleasure in anything except obtaining wisdom and educating himself, all to further his own goals. In all that time, she had been the only one to bring him solace and shelter from his bitter heartache, and in return for her affections, he had pushed her away.

Now that he was finally holding her physically in his arms again, though, he felt the depth of his hollow solitude completely. Lavellan was the living embodiment of all his longings, all that he'd ever loved and lost… And her approaching death forced him to add another name to the growing list of people he had hurt and betrayed, willingly or not. She was never going to wake up again, he wept internally. His final memory of her would be that of her lovely face, contorted with angry tears shed on his behalf. Cole was right; he had made things worse. It had become his trademark characteristic, apparently.

Cole hadn't spoken to him upon his return, merely setting a cup of water near him for when he thirsted. The compassionate spirit set about preparing a batch of stew for the two of them, cutting the root vegetables with his cleaned dagger as he tactfully avoided his open stare by turning his back on him. Solas wanted to say something to smooth things over, but knew not where to start. Ought he to explain his actions, or justify himself in some fashion? But no, words were empty and void of meaning at this point.

Despite having sat in relatively the same position for hours now, the sun's warm glow etching its way through the green leaves overhead, Solas was quite comfortable holding Lavellan next to the fire. He had even refused an opportunity for a break when offered, growing content in his position of carer. As the day wore on, though, Cole did not show any signs of departing, and Solas' suspicions mounted.

"Cole," he said, his voice kept low so as not to disturb Lavellan on his lap, "we need to have a discussion."

"Yes, we do," Cole concurred, coming close and taking a seat as he fashioned something out of long twigs in his hands.

After a moment of watching Cole weave in silence, Solas said, "I need your full attention."

"You have it," he answered simply, not ceasing in his activity.

He let it slide, readjusting the frail woman, her head resting softly against his shoulder. "You knew the terms of this arrangement, my friend… It's time for you to go, as per our deal."

Cole became disquieted, keeping his eyes down on his task. "We will have to try to wake her soon. She needs to eat something."

"What 'we'? There is no 'we', Cole… The sooner you accept that, the sooner – "

"I'm not leaving Lavellan. She doesn't want me to leave her."

Solas' suspicions confirmed, he set his jaw, a vein standing out on his temple. "My terms were _clearly_ stated. You were to leave her with me and not come back, is that not what we agreed upon?" His voice accentuated the last rhetorical question in a condescending tone.

"That's what your terms were, yes," Cole shrugged nervously, setting his work down and rising to spoon out a bowl of boiling stew, "but I never agreed to them, so I don't have to do anything."

Momentarily stunned, Solas retraced his recollection of their bargain as he scratched his ear contemplatively, and found to his astonishment that this was indeed a correct assessment of their exchange. As Cole set the steaming bowl beside his cup, Solas let out a slight, surprised chuckle, inwardly impressed. "It wouldn't be unheard of for me kill you for this… Those who do not uphold my bargains don't meet with good ends."

"I know," Cole affirmed quietly, "but you asked me not to die before, so I thought you probably wouldn't kill me yourself."

"I could still send you back across the Veil, you know," he cautioned, spooning the stew with a free hand and blowing on the steaming contents before placing it in his mouth. It was at least comforting to have hot food again. "I could bind you there, trapping you forever in the Fade."

Cole sat cross-legged across from Solas, resuming his craft and ignoring the empty threat. "You could. You won't, though. You like me."

Solas didn't respond with anything more than a nod of acknowledgement, finishing his bowl and passing it back to Cole. Dutifully, he rose and refilled the bowl, running his thumb along the griffons bordering the rim.

Upon his return, Cole continued to weave the twigs together, Solas observing curiously as he fashioned them into some type of animal, tail curling around its back haunches as it sat upright. Before long, he'd completed the head, pointed ears, and snout, and placed it on the grass at Solas' feet.

Solas retrieved the little figure, studying its fine detail, and Cole hesitated for a brief pause, letting him quietly appraise his creation. "The wolf can be a great teacher if he is called upon to share his wisdom," Cole breathed, his voice coming from somewhere deep within himself as he stared at nothing in particular. "He adapts, and endures great struggles to become the master hunter…"

Solas' piercing blue eyes met his, keeping silent as he listened to Cole continue. "He is intelligent, intuitive, insightful… Confident in his steps. To be his ally is to share in his knowledge of the dangers of the forest… To be a member of his pack is to be honoured and protected like no other…"

Cole blinked, coming back to himself, and added in conclusion, "The wolf is the pathfinder to freedom. Freedom from fear and doubt."

Closing his eyes, Solas placed the figure on the ground and turned his head away, moved by the symbolism. When he opened them again, he gathered Lavellan closer to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her limp body and kissing the hair covering her forehead, the first time he had done so since removing her _vallaslin_. For the first time, he began to second guess himself, to question his next move, but frustratingly, he still could foresee no way around the inevitable.

"She's not waking up," Cole said in a clearer tone as though nothing of note had been said. "She has been sleeping longer, but she should have come out of it, by now."

Tilting her head back against his arm with a hand on her chin, Solas gave her a cursory examination. Lavellan was alarmingly slack and pale, but thankfully still breathing, albeit shallowly. Lifting the sleeve of the robe, they observed the anchor's energy, not yet subsiding, had spread as far as her elbow in its current state, yet remained soundless, like a terrible lightning storm too distant to hear, but creeping steadily closer across a darkened sky.

"No, she does not appear to be sleeping… She may be worsening." Checking the pulse in her throat and finding it slow and weak, he noticed a small gold chain around her neck. His brow furrowing, he pulled at it until the circular pendant buried in her white clothes emerged on her collarbone.

A sun radiating golden flames…

The Holy Symbol of Andraste.

"…I can find her in the Fade," Solas posed the idea softly, swallowing around the lump that caught in his throat, "and command her from there to wake up. I'll need a quiet place in which to meditate."

Cole nodded his agreement to his plan, kneeling forward to take Lavellan from his arms, and Solas stood to brush himself off and stretch his aching back. Truthfully, he was stiff and tired, and wanted nothing more than to have a light nap, but his stomach twisted into knots at the thought of finding Lavellan in her dreams. She would likely have a few choice words for him, he steeled himself grimly, and they would not necessarily be undeserved.

Solas parted the twisted, flowery vines draping heavily over the entrance, and Cole hurriedly brought her inside. Following with a sigh, he looked about the roomy, warm confines of their home. The head of the makeshift cot was lined against the right wall, a decorative pillow adorning the wool military blankets there. Beside it were two lit pillar candles and a small basket of shining marbles. There were woven baskets containing food, dried herbs, and an assortment of smooth river rocks that had been collected for no other reason than they happened to be shiny and appealing. A string of fresh herbs were pinned to hang until dried near a steel bucket and sponge for washing. It was sparse, but welcoming and inviting.

Cole laid Lavellan on the cot, pulling a familiar red cloak over her and tucking furred pauldrons around her neck. _Commander Cullen's cloak_ , Solas thought, mildly perplexed, and wondered under what circumstances it had come into their possession… but it mattered little. As a parting gift, Cole took out the small figure of the wolf, propping it up faithfully next to the pillow so it remained, loyal and strong, to guard her against any harm that might come to her.

Sighing with worry, Cole crossed his arms and came to stand next to Solas, looking back at the unconscious Lavellan with trepidation. "Good luck," he whispered solemnly, and promptly turned and left.

He breathed deeply to stave off his nervousness, and approached the cot, his insides knotting as he drew closer. She lay faced away from him, her arm draped outside the blankets so it could be monitored with ease, casting an emerald green glow on the wall of the cave. Running his hand along the affected area in morose apology, he lowered himself to the pillow and joined her under the blankets, tucking his arm around her middle to hold her tightly the way he had in happier times long gone.

Moving himself close to breathe in the nostalgic fragrance of her fair hair, Solas quietly meditated until, eventually, he relaxed and drifted off, peacefully entering the Fade to meet with his Heart one last time.


	16. Chapter 16

The Tower Room was uncomfortably palatial, and the grandness of it all ensured that she spent little time in here, even when she was not away on a mission elsewhere. It felt like a waste of needed space to Lavellan; surely, it could be appropriated for some other purpose more functional than how it was currently being used. Ambassador Josephine had insisted she take it, though, and there was little room for argument on such matters with her. It was important that people see the Inquisitor as a great leader, with all the benefits of splendour thereof. Still, all her life, she had been raised to sleep in huts or tents, and all the bells and whistles of her position made her feel out of place in her surroundings.

That was why, on occasion, she would tip-toe her way to the Rotunda and quietly wake him from his slumber on the ivory sofa to come help her sleep. If she, the Dalish forest-dweller, was going to be forced to occupy such an opulent bedroom, then so would the lone wanderer of the wilderness, who was equally as unaccustomed to such surroundings, but at least seemed to take slightly more pleasure in them than she did. The bed was far too large and empty for just one elf to be put off by its luxury; why not share in the awkwardness together? Of course, to keep their relationship as low-key as possible, he would leave to return to the sofa in his study before anyone could notice his absence, usually not lingering much longer after she was fast asleep.

This night, though, she was having considerable trouble drifting off. He held her on the springy mattress, her body turned into his to share in each other's warmth, and from the sound of his breathing, he had unintentionally subsided into sleep before her. Her mind currently plagued with worrisome thoughts, she could not allow herself to join him in blissful oblivion quite yet.

After a moment's consideration, she decided to open up to him, there, in the darkness of her room. "Solas…?" Lavellan whispered, hoping that it would be enough to get his attention. It wasn't, and she shifted her body lightly to nudge him awake.

"Mmm?" He mumbled sleepily, breathing deeply and stretching his legs before replacing them behind her knees. "Ah," Solas sighed, coming to himself a bit more, "I had wondered where you were…" He gave her middle a small squeeze in greeting, kissing her hair before bringing her closer.

"Solas," she asked, her voice small to her ears, "what if I'm not what they think I am?"

He ran a stray hand along her outer thigh, snorting slightly as he briefly chuckled soundlessly. "Are you part dwarf?" He teased lightly, the smile evident on his lips. "Is that why you're so short?"

If she were in a more accommodating mood, she would have returned the laugh and swatted at him for that, but tonight, she was feeling off. "You know that's not what I meant,  _emma lath_ ," she muttered seriously.

He caught the tone in her voice, and reached his hand up to pull back on her shoulder until she turned to face him on the pillow, his brows drawn together in concern as he tucked her stray hair behind her pointed ear. "My Heart," he whispered in the dark, his eyes searching her face, "what's brought this on?"

Lavellan sighed, nervousness knotting deep in her belly. "It's just…" She closed her eyes and sighed again, reaching up to take his hand in her scarred one. He clasped it gently, yet with strength and support behind it, waiting for her to continue.

"People follow me into battle because they believe I'm… _chosen_ ," she explained, opening her eyes to meet his. "What if I'm not?"

His brow relaxed in sudden understanding, and he gave her hand a knowing squeeze. "If it brings them hope, and the cause is just, then it does not matter," he answered soothingly, thinking that would calm her nerves.

"But what if this was all just an accident?" She fretted, unable to let it go. "What if I'm just an ordinary elf who was in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

He shook his head slowly, the feather pillow rustling beneath him. "I do not believe that."

Lavellan looked at him curiously. "No?" She asked, slightly surprised by his statement.

"No…" He let go her hand and gathered her to him, and she lay against him on her back, bare legs draped over his as he tucked his own snugly next to her bottom, wrapping his strong arms around her. "There is nothing ordinary about you… And I believe you were in the right place at the right time," he professed directly into her ear. "We could not have accomplished any of this without you."

"But it could have been anyone at that conclave," she protested, staring up at the high ceiling as she shook her head in disbelief. "Don't you think that, no matter who received this mark, they would have done the exact same thing in my place?"

He paused to let her know he was honestly considering her question, the whistling of the cold mountain wind outside the windows all she could hear in the stillness. "Possibly… But I would not have wanted it to be anyone else," he confessed, placing his warm hand on her shoulder, kneading it to comfort her. "Had it been, I would never have met you."

The unexpected sentiment made her smile to herself. "Oh," Lavellan chuckled softly, turning her head to face him again, "so _fate_ brought us together, you mean?"

The corner of Solas' mouth lifted gently, and he lowered his forehead to press lovingly against hers. "If that is so, then I am forever grateful for it."

"Hmm…" She closed her eyes, enjoying the closeness of his body for a time before letting out her breath and turning to gaze up at the ceiling once more, completely content to be with him at that moment, alone together in the night. "The solitary elven apostate with few chances to socialise outside the Fade somehow manages to be the smoothest man I've ever met," she smirked, wondering how that was even possible.

A long, sweet silence passed between them, and before she knew it, she was slipping into the timeless void of sleep.

"… _Vhenan_?" Solas quietly whispered before she was completely dead to the world.

"Mmm," she mumbled, her eyes still closed as she teetered on the very edge of slumber.

He laid his hand over her heart, kissing her slender shoulder possessively, his own anxiousness now keeping him from his dreams. "What if _I'm_ not what you think I am…?"

She turned her head to face his, her eyes glued shut as she fought to stay awake long enough to reassure him. "Do you love me…?" She barely breathed, touching his hand on her chest.

He brought his hand up behind her head and kissed her forehead tenderly for a long moment. "More than I ever thought possible," he replied after a time, his voice slightly catching on the words as he cradled her head against his chest, chin resting atop her fair hair.

Lavellan smiled dreamily, trying to squeeze his hand, but only managing to twitch a single finger in response. "…Then it doesn't matter…"

And she fell asleep to the slowing thump of his beating heart.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

Cole walked out of the dark cave and stood in the sun, feeling its glowing rays passing through the trees overhead penetrate his clothes. After a long moment of probing with his mind, he felt Solas drift off to sleep, and he silently hoped that it wouldn't be long before both of them emerged from behind the vines. Making himself useful, he took up the bowl of stew and dumped it back into the cauldron to keep warm, using an iron bar to knock the logs down to reduce heat. He wouldn't burn another batch; he had to keep it ready for Lavellan to eat.

He sat against the rock wall of the cave, staring at nothing and everything at once, lost in thoughts of past friends, wondering where they were now and if they were safe. He could not feel time ticking by around him, and the sensation reminded him of the Spire in Val Royeaux, sending a shiver up his spine despite the warm day. How long had he roamed the Mage Tower? It seemed like ages ago, now, but he had no idea of the amount of months or years he may have spent haunting the corridors and passageways. Time only began for him when he finally left quietly with Rhys to follow him secretly to Adamant. Everything else before that felt like a black void of nothingness.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he sensed the presence of someone nearby, startling him. The man moved soundlessly through the forest, almost as though he were a part of it. He was not Solas, but another elf, and Cole quickly drew his daggers, prepared to defend his sleeping friends against the unknown intruder.

He stopped by the fire, removing his rucksack, and sat down cross legged before the flames, a great, heavy sigh escaping his old lips as he relaxed after his long journey. Why was he stopping here? Who was he to just arrive at another's fire and make himself at home?

Then Cole felt something familiar about the old elf, and as the man unstrapped his longbow, pushed back his hood, and pulled out the leather thong tying back his shining, silver hair, Cole's large eyes widened in surprise.

" _Andaran atish'an_ , friend Cole," Ser Fendorf of the Night Elves greeted him, nodding toward the weapons in Cole's hands. "I see you are still quite handy with a blade. I pray for your enemies' sake that this is not due to putting them to use."

Cole's voice escaped him for an awkward space of time, unable to speak, the shock of the King's man so suddenly appearing having rattled him. He was most surprised by another fact, though. "You can _see_ me?" He asked, astounded. "You… You _remember_ me?"

Fendorf sniffed the air, the fragrance of the stew causing his stomach to growl in anticipation. "Is that so unusual?"

"Yes," he replied, dumbstruck. Hearing Fendorf's hunger voice itself, Cole rose to fill Blackwall's wooden bowl with the steaming contents of the cauldron, handing it to Fendorf along with the spoon. "Here you are."

" _Ma serannas_ ," he inclined his head in thanks, feeding himself slowly.

"How did you know where to find us?"

Fendorf was an old elf, and as such, was not in as much of a hurry as the young were to reply, despite his long life in military service. He chewed slowly, swallowing the mouthful before answering. "The Inquisition troops directed me here. They informed me that the Herald had a small settlement nearby. They also said she was alone, and did not mention you, so I presumed you did not wish this fact to be known. I came as soon as I was able. King Alistair was… _more_ than happy to allow me to locate you, myself." The last statement was said with a hint of bitterness on his tongue before he continued with his meal.

Cole nodded, wondering to himself how it was that Fendorf could not only see him, but recognise him, yet the soldiers could not. Perhaps he hadn't left that much of an impression on them as he had the King's archer. "Alistair respects you," he said, only half paying attention to his words as he thought of other things. "He thinks you don't like him because you liked the General, and the General was mean to him."

Ceasing in his chewing, Fendorf eyed him carefully, clearly not knowing what to make of Cole's observations, but nodding along nonetheless as he swallowed hard. "Yes, well… I did not come to discuss such matters," he said, pushing his bowl aside at the sudden loss of his appetite. "I have received word from one of my scouts in the Free Marches, and wanted to deliver the good news, myself…" He looked around at their surroundings for a moment, taking in the stunning scenery. "The Dales are more beautiful than I ever imagined. I am glad to have made the pilgrimage before I died… Where is the Inquisitor?"

Cole shook his head in dismay, lowering his eyes. "She is dying."

The old elf stared in shock, a frown deepening the small wrinkles around his mouth. "I am grieved to hear that… My condolences, friend… Can anything be done for her?"

"I don't know," he admitted sadly, thinking about the anchor. He tried belatedly to inject hope into his reply. "We're trying to help her, though."

A single white brow shot up in curiosity. "'We'?" He asked, his interest piqued.

 _Oh no_. He had fumbled. No one was supposed to know about Solas being here. The look on the elf's face was confirmation he wouldn't let Cole get close enough to wipe his memory and start again, so the spirit resigned to stay as close to the truth as possible without alerting him of his friend's presence. "We – I… summoned someone who… offered to help her."

The white brows drew together in suspicion. "And where is this… _person_ , now?"

Cole swallowed around the lump in his throat, looking away to avoid the old elf's interrogative eyes. "He's with her," he replied with a shrug, hoping to play it off as unimportant so the man would drop his probing questions. "In the Fade."

Fendorf stared in silence for an uncomfortable length of time, unnerving Cole. "The Beyond," he finally uttered, and Cole followed the man's thoughts as they travelled back to that fateful day near West Hill. "When we first met, she alluded to being the servant of the god Fen'Harel," he spoke with an eerie calm, his eyes full of accusation.

Cole sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, turning away to pace slowly. _How does he know?_ _Don't look at him,_ don't _look at him_. "She's not his servant," he clarified honestly, upset with himself for letting too much slip.

"…Is he the one from whom you sought aid?"

Facing away from the archer, Cole bowed his head, his eyes closed. "I-I shouldn't say," he uttered reluctantly.

Fendorf was quiet for a time, and Cole could feel the silent dread coming from his mind. His mouth dropped open slightly at the thoughts running through the elf's head when he realised the archer didn't think of Solas as a physical person, but rather something like Cole… Something like a spirit, or an entity.

Relief flooded him then, and for now, Solas was probably safe from harm. It had been so long since Cole had spoken to others that he'd let the secret out unwittingly, and thankfully, it wouldn't lead to anything more beyond that. He promised himself sternly that he would be more careful in the future when speaking to others.

"I would not trust any aid that came from him, _shem_. For your sake, I hope you did not strike a bargain with the Dread Wolf. The legends are… Well, I shall not trouble you with them, now," Fendorf dismissed his own thoughts on the issue. "You have enough with which to concern yourself, but I pray to the gods for your poor souls that you do not become his next prey."

"Thank you," Cole breathed, turning back to the fire and lowering down to steady his nerves. "You said you had good news. Is this about her clan?" He asked, more than happy to change the subject.

"Ah, yes," he said, back on point again. "I desired to deliver this to her, myself, but I am afraid I must return to Denerim, and cannot linger."

Cole nodded, thankful his unannounced guest wouldn't be staying much longer. It wouldn't be easy to hide Solas in the cave if he had meant to stay. "I understand. So will the Inquisitor. She would have liked to see you again."

"The feeling is mutual, friend Cole." Nodding to himself, the old elf picked up his rucksack, placing it on his lap. "There were varied rumours of stragglers, survivors that escaped the attack on Clan Lavellan. When my contacts probed neighbouring Dalish clans for clues to their whereabouts, they discovered a small group of Lavellans amongst Clan Sabrae. They did not come forward, knowing that they were being hunted for their affiliation with the Inquisitor, but their Keeper, a woman named Merrill, entrusted my scout with information. She asked only that their identities remain unknown, they now bearing the name Sabrae to keep themselves hidden. One of the survivors, though, passed this along."

From a secret pocket sewn into the inside of the sack, he pulled out a small parcel, opening it with care. Once the item was retrieved, he handed it to Cole: a delicate necklace bearing a small wooden pendant. On the surface of the wood was an intricate carving of the bust of a halla in profile, its horns swirling like elegant branches from its head. The residual emotions attached to the jewellery were strong. He'd seen the image of this very pendant around the neck of a young redheaded woman in a place of honour in Lavellan's memory.

"This belonged to her sister," Cole realised, happiness swelling within him.

"Indeed, I believe that to be the case," Fendorf confirmed. "A woman entrusted it to my scout to give to the Inquisitor."

"Then… Atisha is _alive!"_

Fendorf smiled, his eyes creasing in the corners. "From what I understand, she fought bravely and managed to hold off the attack long enough for a few survivors to flee. She lost a leg, but… Yes, she yet lives. She is happily married to a Sabrae warrior, expecting their first child in the coming Winter."

Cole beamed, elated for his friend. "That's _wonderful!_ Lavellan will be…" The smile evaporated from his face as he remembered, and a dark cloud filled him again. If Solas could not wake her, she would never know the truth.

Fendorf lowered his eyes, his lips pressing to a fine line. " _Ir abelas_ , friend Cole," he offered in remorse. "I came to deliver the happy news of her sister's survival… Now I must return to inform the other of her sister's death. It is… a terrible irony. The _Elvhen_ will lose a beacon of hope in the Inquisitor."

Cole refused to give up. "She is not gone, yet. She is stronger than you think."

Rising to his feet slowly, Ser Fendorf picked up his bow and tossed the rucksack over his shoulder, raising the green velvet hood over his flowing silver locks. He bowed his head in parting, saying only, "I thank you for the meal, my friend… But with all due respect, you are but a _shem_ , and you do not know anything of the Dread Wolf… _Dareth shiral_." With that, he headed back through the forest in the same direction from which he came.

As Cole watched the old archer depart and disappear soundlessly through the trees once more, he shook his head, firmly placing his trust in Solas' hands. "Yes, I do," he quietly muttered to himself.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

A hunting ground was quite possibly one of the worst places Lavellan could have turned up in the Fade, but regardless of his aversion to such places, he cut through the dry, cracked landscape with determination. He affected an unassuming air, showing no fear, but not appearing too confident in his steps, so as not to attract unwanted attention. It was a delicate balance, but so long as he made himself relatively emotionless, making his way casually in the direction he was being pulled, the more aggressive spirits would not attempt to latch onto him, thereby bringing an abrupt end to his attempts to reach her.

The spirits here were searching for the same thing he was: the source of the explosion of emotions. It was like watching a pack of starving dogs search hungrily for a bit of discarded meat in a trash heap, diving in headfirst, no matter how filthy they became in the process. The aggressive spirits had all wanted a piece for themselves, to try this new mortal sensation, even if it corrupted their virtue to find it.

When the fountain of emotions suddenly shut off, a jolt of panic struck him, and eyeless spirits turned to look blindly in his direction, catching the presence of a new dreamer. Calming himself, he pushed the fear down until it was nothing, clearing his mind of all worries. As he walked through the roaming stalkers, who began to wail and call out to one another in their search for susceptible dreamers, he posed logical hypotheses about what had happened to Lavellan, all in an effort to distract himself emotionally.

There were three things that might have occurred: one, she had been found by an aggressive spirit, or as others would call it, a demon, and it was now feeding off of her mind, in which case he only need dispel it to free her; two, she had wandered far enough out of the area that she was no longer traceable by emotion alone, which was also not too difficult to remedy; or three… she had died… It was best not to dwell on the last possibility, lest his feelings on the matter make himself more alluring to these beings.

Under different circumstances, it might have been a tense few minutes as he walked confidently through the hissing, yelping gathering, making a beeline for Lavellan, but his own trepidation for the conversation that must now be had overshadowed his concern for the spirits around him. They could be dealt with, one way or another, in such a way that he could calculate the outcome of each threat as he passed it. But with her… he didn't know what to expect. Fear? Bitterness? Hate? It was a mystery to him, as he'd never had need for this confrontation in the past.

Swerving through them, he finally reached the other side of the large grouping, making his way uphill in relief at his success. How far he would have to go to find her didn't matter. He had already resolved himself to press on, regardless of whatever else he had to face.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

Lavellan had run terrified from the horde of spirits that chased her, shocked at their seemingly endless pursuit. But one had caught up to her.

She fully expected this spirit to act much the same as the others, but whatever its virtue, it was strong enough in its identity to resist the pull that the others fell upon ravenously, and the moment it reached its blue hand out to touch her, the pursuit was off, the demons subsiding into a blind search of the area for her. With the threat gone, she had been quite literally spirited away, taken to a more secluded area of the Fade, and the spirit did what it could to calm her, so much so that Lavellan became almost catatonic, unable to do more than observe. Even words refused to come to her, leaving her unable to vocalise any questions, had she had the inclination to ask any. Instead she was left with only one overwhelming feeling.

Hope.

So when the elven man she seemed to recognise appeared from the other side of the hill, all she could feel was the materialisation of all her hopes embodied in that man, that special someone who had come to rescue her.

He approached them, relief mingling with sorrow on his face, and he turned to the spirit holding her hand, knowing that Lavellan herself was incapable of responding. "Hope," he said to it, nodding in greeting. "Thank you for watching over her. That was a brave thing you did."

"Hope can be a brave quality to possess when all appears lost," the spirit responded in a floating, watery tone. "I am heartened that you came for her, wanderer. It means you have not yet surrendered."

He knelt next to them, letting his breath out in a small sigh. "I have yet to find a way to spare her this fate. I do not believe one will be found in time. So far, all I can think to do is offer her comfort…"

The spirit flashed slightly, emanating its virtue outward so that even the wanderer was taken under the influence for a moment. "In the darkest hour will come the answer you seek," it reassured him softly. "When it comes to you, do not hesitate. Only you hold the key to this one's salvation, wanderer. Trust yourself. Hope is not lost, not so long as you continue to look for the path."

He nodded for a moment, mulling over the words, and then he winced slightly, lowering his head at his frustration. "Could you not just… _tell_ me? What is it that I must do?"

Shaking its head, the spirit only replied, "All I can give is hope. Hope does not provide answers, only that those answers may yet be found. But to lose all hope assures that they never will be. One must hold true, so that the solution may present itself."

Understanding its inability to offer more than its purpose allotted, but unable to see the path, the wanderer nodded and looked at Lavellan. He sat down before her, taking her other hand with his own, and gave it a reassuring squeeze, even if he himself didn't honestly feel that all would be well.

"I must speak with her, Hope," he informed the spirit, casting a ward around them to protect Lavellan from the return of the hungry, more curious spirits. To Lavellan, he said calmly, " _Da'len_ , you need to stay within the protection of this ward. When Hope releases you, you will be set upon if you leave the area. Do you understand?"

Lavellan nodded apprehensively, not comprehending why he would assume she would leave such a serene place. At her agreement, he met the spirit's eyes, signalling it to release its hold.

"I will remain close at hand and continue to protect her, if needed. Good luck, wanderer," it said, and then it let her go, vanishing into the Fade.

Lavellan squinted against the light in her eyes, lowering her head to cover her face for a moment as she slowly came to herself again. Getting her bearings, she looked up to again see the man's face.

"Solas," she said, dumbstruck for a moment. Then she remembered, and pulled her hand from his grasp, moving to crawl away backwards in fright.

"No, do not leave the ward," he almost begged her, biting his lip as he silently urged her to obey. "Please, sit down…"

She stopped, remembering his warning and realising that she now must share this small bubble of space with…

"What do I call you?" She asked sardonically with a glare, though in truth she wasn't much up to arguing at the moment. She felt relaxed from her time with the spirit, so much so that she still felt the after-effects of its aid. "Is it Solas? Fen'Harel? Dread Wolf? Or do you have other names?"

He placed a hand on the back of his neck, grimacing slightly at her questions. "You know me as Solas… For ease of communication, you may continue to address me as such…"

She softened, hearing the harshness of her own tone ring in her ears, and resettled herself to sit across from him, staring at the dusty ground. "Okay… Solas," she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Why did you lie to me?"

He looked aggrieved then, and he wanted to stand up and pace to avoid her gaze, but he resigned himself after a moment to remain seated and finally be completely honest with her. "I never lied to you… The only things I kept hidden were my true nature, and how I obtained the knowledge I imparted to you, but everything I did, everything I… felt for you… That was real."

She felt the sting of hindsight, feeling the fool for not having pressed the issue more when she felt him holding back from her. "You should have told me the truth," she croaked, her voice hoarse.

"And risk you having the exact reaction you did? No," he breathed solemnly, shaking his head, "I could not chance it. The damage I indirectly caused needed to be rectified, and I could not have done so had your Inquisition run me out of Haven or killed me outright… But for what it's worth, Lavellan, I am deeply sorry for the deception, however necessary it may have been."

He was right, she thought to herself, nodding glumly. It would not have gone over well had he shown up and said right out of the gate, _Hi, I'm Fen'Harel, and this is all my fault. Can I see the prisoner with the mark bearing my ancient power?_ She breathed a rueful chuckle at the thought, running a hand through her hair as she relented. "Where are you now?" She asked absently. "I mean, I know you're here, but…"

Solas smirked, catching her meaning. "On your cot," he admitted somewhat hesitantly, "with you… holding you close to me as we now dream."

Lavellan nodded, the catch in her throat returning, and she buried her head in her hands for a moment to stop her tears. Sniffing loudly, she pushed her hair from her eyes and rubbed her face hard, composing herself once more. "So I take it Cole summoned you to save me from this damned thing," she guessed, looking down at her hand. She noticed for the first time that the mark seemed to pulse through her entire arm now. That didn't bode well.

After a longer break in the flow of conversation than she had expected, she raised her eyes to meet his, and found there such a look of total despondency that it froze her in place.

"When did I say I would save you…?"

A cold dread filled every corner of her being at his words. The words of Fen'Harel, himself. "You're going to let me die," she realised, horrified at the revelation. "You want the mark for yourself, and you're waiting for me to die so you can take it back…"

"It is not a matter of _letting_ you die," Solas said with a calm reserve that filled her with outrage. "I cannot do anything for you… I don't see why I should not retrieve what is mine once you… pass away, _da'len_."

"Don't call me _da'len_ ," she bit coldly, her breath ragged with strain as she leaned forward threateningly. "I am _not_ a little child, any longer!"

"Then stop behaving as one," he countered, his eyes hardening as he held his ground against her verbal attack.

She laughed bitterly at his remark. "Forgive me for acting _childish_ in the face of all this!"

There was a momentary pause as he slumped imperceptibly, and he pleaded with her to see reason. " _Please_ , Lavellan… meet your death with dignity and grace."

"And what would a god know of death?" She glared.

Solas' demeanour darkened, regret etched into the soft lines of his face. "More than anyone should ever have to."

He had given up on her, and was now merely trying to ease her passing. Again, she felt the icy sting of betrayal as a recent memory sprang to mind. "So am I the qunari on the platform, then?"

Solas froze as he cast his mind back to their reunion, offended by the comparison. "No," he denied fervently, "that had _nothing_ to do with this. That was simply a question of philosophy."

"A philosophy you clearly subscribe to, or you wouldn't have framed it to me as such," she pointed out, filling him with a bleak sorrow. It hurt worse to know that he wasn't just making a cold evaluation of his options, that he actually cared about what happened to her. _What if the qunari is a close friend?_ She had asked. He had neglected to answer, instead asking her for a dance…

And then her world had utterly shattered.

"What do you plan to do with the mark?" Lavellan whispered, keeping her eyes averted, unable to bear the pained look upon his face any longer.

Solas sighed, obviously aware that the conversation would lead to this, and reached out a hand tentatively, waiting for her to take hold of it. When she didn't, or rather couldn't, he rubbed his knee, accepting her rejection and letting it fall away, empty and slack.

" _Vhen_ -" He cut himself off, covering his mouth as he closed his eyes. It seemed keeping his distance was becoming ever more difficult to maintain. Shaking his head to clear it, he began again. "I have been wandering the Fade for… Well. For a very long time, indeed," he started, loosening the mental restraints he'd placed upon himself to keep his plans secret and safe, "always waiting for an opportunity to reverse the damage that I have done while my body recovered. I was not 'laughing with glee' in some forgotten corner of the world; I was trying to gather the strength to repair my own mistakes… This," he waved about, indicating their surroundings, "the state of _Elvhenan_ today, the Fade, the Quickening, all of what you see - what you've come to accept as your reality - was never meant to be this way! These were direct consequences of my miscalculation - Don't you see?"

At her baffled expression, Solas sighed in an attempt to control himself, but he was caught up with the intensity of needing her to understand. "It was a terrible mistake, and I must put things back the way they were and restore my world. With the orb unlocked, the power to do so would have been granted to me in an instant. I could have tapped into it, thereby making my abilities virtually limitless. All these centuries, as I underwent _Uthenera_ , my orb was safe, waiting for my return, but when I awoke, I was too weakened to unlock its power… And you know the rest."

Lavellan shook her head slowly. "I understand all that, Solas," she admitted quietly, doing her best to control her rising horror, "but what does this have to do with your plans?"

He looked up at her, taking a deep breath and letting it out with a huff as he prepared himself for her reaction. "Thedas will resist me. I know they will not believe this is for their own good, and I expect they will take up arms against me for what I will do," he confessed, steel in his voice, "but it _must_ be done. It is the only way to begin to reverse what happened." He straightened, meeting her eyes, appearing so much like an ancient statue of some long-forgotten legendary figure that it sent a shiver up her spine.

"I will tear down the Veil, and unite the realm of the spirits with the waking world."

She stared in complete shock, her eyes round with terror. " _What?!_ " She cried, disbelief in her tone. "Why would you _do_ that?! How could you even think for a _second_ that _that's_ a good idea?! Didn't you see what happened when Corypheus – "

"Corypheus was not trying to bring the Veil down," he argued heatedly. "He was trying to physically enter the Fade so he could claim the throne in the Black City. That is not what I am doing! _His_ plan caused... rifts, tears, the Breach itself. Corypheus destabilised the Veil, forcing spirits out into a world they did not recognise. That would not happen here – there would be nothing _left_ to tear, and spirits would never again be corrupted in this horrible way! Both worlds will unite as one, and that will begin to restore all that was lost when the Veil went up to begin with."

"You're talking about _destroying the world_ ," she practically screamed, causing Solas to flinch and reach his hands out to settle her, touching her shoulders to keep her still. If she was too emotional, she would make herself a target for the demons, and ward or no ward, she didn't like that idea at all.

"I'm talking about restoring the world that was _already_ destroyed," he reasoned, his voice soft and reassuring. "Can you not see the difference?"

Lavellan covered her mouth with a hand, her blood turning to ice in her veins. "But what of the one we've built?" She asked desperately, moving her hand to her cheek so she could be heard. "Does that not even matter to you?"

"The people in it - those that survive - will be _free_ ," he insisted, his expression begging her to understand the plan. "That is only the beginning of what must be done, but _try_ to imagine it: no more blights, death, or demons... The Black City restored… Chaos into order. How is that not worth _every_ sacrifice? To restore the People and save them from further destruction?"

"I thought Fen'Harel didn't care for the elves," she spat angrily. "And now that I remember that, it's no wonder you dislike us Dalish."

Becoming defensive, he crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a hard look. "I _do_ care. I care enough to see the elves brought back to their former glory, even if they _are_ foolish and would rather play pretend with slave traditions and folk nonsense!"

Her eyes welled with tears suddenly, her culture attacked once more by this man whom had become an outsider. Perhaps he had led the elves long ago, but his disdain for the People, however he excused it, was apparent and hurtful. "This isn't right," she shook her head in denial, wiping away the tears as they coursed down her cheeks. "You're going about this all wrong; you don't have to do it this way!"

His eyes softened compassionately, seeing that he had disturbed her and insulted her in such a short span of time, and he reached his hand out to touch her knee in support. "You don't have to believe me, nor even like me," he said calmly, determination in his words. "You only need believe that it could be better, this way."

In frustration, she pulled at her hair and growled deep in her throat. "' _Could_ ' _!_ ' _Could_ be better'! _That's_ not very reassuring! What if it's _not?!_ "

"I am willing to take that risk!"

She laughed, teetering on the edge of hysteria. "I don't believe you taking risks has benefited the world that much, so far!"

Solas glared, pursing his lips in disapproval. "You know so little of what happened, _da'len_. Do not presume to teach _me_ about history; I was _there_. You have no idea the amount of devastation I prevented."

"And how do you know you haven't brought more harm than what would have happened without your intervention? _Think_ , Solas," she demanded, a finger waving in his face in accusation, "for all these unfortunate events and terrible changes, what is the commonality? _You_."

"And if that is so," he blustered, driven to the breaking point as his face grew red with anger, "then I will spend an eternity atoning for it! If I have to _sacrifice_ myself for my cause, I will do so when the time comes! This plan has been in the works far longer than you realise, and you are _not_ long for this world, Lavellan. Do not even _think_ for a moment that you can change the course that has been set!"

Shocked and devastated at his words, she reeled back, a hand over her mouth as the other braced her up on the dry ground behind her. Lavellan could not believe what she was hearing, her head subtly shaking from side to side in renewed horror. She barely recognised him as the man she once loved... He talked like a villain, like the Dread Wolf she'd heard so much about.

Coming to himself, Solas panted slightly to catch his breath, the colour flooding from his cheeks. " _Ir abelas_ ," he apologised breathlessly, suddenly ashamed that he had taken such a tone with her. "I must sound so fanatical to you… I never intended to frighten you." He lowered his face to his hands, elbows propped against his knees as he sighed, trying his best to centre himself. "This is why I did not want us to become involved," he muttered forlornly, his shoulders trembling with emotion.

Lavellan surprised herself as she suddenly took pity on her former lover, his ancient wounds all but visible to her. He had splayed himself open, made himself vulnerable to her judgement, and she had done exactly as he had said she would, reacting in terror and outrage… There was no need to continue to accuse him when he already blamed himself, as it was.

"Then why did you?" She whispered quietly, biting her quivering lip as her eyes welled and watered her vision in the corners. "I gave you time to consider it... Why did you let yourself…?"

Solas' body racked, and he looked into her eyes as, for the first time, she watched tears spill freely down his face. "I tried to resist, but it couldn't be helped… I care for you,  _vhenan_ …"

He had declared it so earnestly, from the depths of his very being, and her face contorted in grief for the loss of what they once had.

Solas reached out, taking her shaking hands in his, and pulled her close enough for their knees to brush against one another. Leaning forward as he stared down at their clasped hands, he let the well of his passion overflow. "I could never afford to grow close to anyone. I didn't deserve the love of another, and anyway... there was no _time_ to indulge in such fanciful thoughts. But you changed _everything.._. _Vhenan_ , the love I yet hold for you is the one mistake, in all my thousands of years, that I will _never_ once regret."

 _There you are, Solas_ , she thought as her eyes burned with spent tears, and before she had a chance to think twice, she lifted his chin and kissed his trembling lips.

Not missing a beat, he entangled his fingers in her hair, holding her to him as she wrapped her arms behind his neck. Everything was as it had been before, and all the pain and sorrow, all the aches and turmoil, melted away in that moment, forgiveness washing over her. None of it mattered.

He pressed his forehead to hers for a wonderfully long time, stroking her hair as he told her everything on his heart. "It nearly killed me, that day in the grove," he whispered, closing his eyes as he resisted the pull of tears behind his lids. "I wanted to tell you all, thought I could forget this… _madness,_ and live a life spent with you, but… Well," he smiled sadly, "you see now why I could not… But then, you conquered your nightmare and befriended the Great Wolf, so... I thought perhaps if you had the opportunity to see the difference between the tales and the truth, then discovering my true identity wouldn't be so upsetting for you… But I was wrong, and I am devastated that I have brought you further pain, my Heart... Especially now."

Lavellan sniffed, her nose stuffy from emotion, and held him in a tight embrace. "Oh, Fen'Harel," she soothed him, using his true name to assure him of her acceptance, "I'll always love you… You should not walk alone with this burden…"

He fell utterly silent in her arms, and grew cold as he slowly pulled away from the embrace, the vulnerability in his eyes retreating as he once again raised his walls. "No," he shook his head gravely. "Absolutely not. I will not be swayed from this path by my feelings again, however strongly I may care for you..."

And just like that, the moment was gone.

"Don't you _dare_ lie to me again," Lavellan scolded, finding the strength within herself to challenge him. "Cole already said it wasn't because I was a distraction, and you just _told_ me what the reason was: you were afraid of what I might think of you… And now you know what I think."

Solas did not flinch away from what she knew, and instead, pushed on with the lie. "Cole can only sense my hurt, not my reasoning. That was only a small part of it. You were a distraction, and I will not be distracted again. This is why I had to end it... My purpose is too important; I cannot deviate any more than I already have."

He would not be reached with emotional pleas, she realised, but she remembered what had always seemed to work on him before: new avenues of thought. "And what if you can't take the anchor from me once I die?" She reasoned coolly, "You will lose it forever. You need me to live so you can continue to have access to your power. You need someone with fresh eyes, a new perspective. Someone who knows this world and will do the least harm to it while still accomplishing your goals. I led the Inquisition with your guidance, and we could do the same thing here!"

Solas turned his head to look away, frustration mounting within him again. "Even if there was a possibility I could save you, it is a terrible path I walk. I will not ask you to follow me."

"You're not asking," she debated him levelly, "and I'm not offering to follow you like some sidekick…" Determined, she set her reservations aside and stated plainly, "I want a full partnership. We can do this together, but you need to see the error of your ways and accept my input."

He remained still, looking into the distance as her words echoed through the Fade. Silently, the ancient elf turned his gaze to her, his eyes unreadable, and sorrow was present in his voice as he declared with finality, "Your part in this tale is through… I deeply regret that I have brought this fate upon you, my Heart, but I won't take you with me… It would be a worse fate than dying."

She stared at him for what felt like minutes, searching for evidence of the man she once knew behind those cold, calculating eyes. But he was gone now, replaced only with a wall of unfeeling pride.

"You're a _fool_ , Dread Wolf," she breathed, ready to hurt him as much as he had her. "You once told me that the stories of Fen'Harel were mistaken… I can see now that they were not all just tales."

"Whatever gets you through," he straightened defiantly, "even hatred of me, then so be it. I will not do as you ask."

Lavellan swallowed hard at the gravity of his decision, knowing that, like her, his feelings were truly done for. "So you'll fight for the salvation of all Thedas," she uttered bitterly, shaking her head in disgust, "but not for the one you claim to love… You'd rather risk more failure than take on any constructive criticism I might have to offer…"

Before he could respond with anything more, she waved her hand in dismissal, pulling back further. "Go ahead, then. _Leave_ me. I'm used to it, by now! Do try not to fuck up the world _again_ when I'm gone, _harellan_!"

Affronted, Solas protested, "We are not through here! And this is _my_ domain! You do not possess the power to make me leave!"

Lavellan laughed as though he'd just shared an off-colour joke in a palatial court. "You should see what a little determination can achieve, then!"

She smirked dangerously, a knowing glint in her eye. "Tell me how much _you_ like it when I say… _Wake up_."

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

With a gasp, Solas shot up on the makeshift cot back in his body in the Emerald Graves. Patting himself, he could hardly believe Lavellan was capable of awakening him from the Fade. No one had done anything like it to him before, and he was left feeling dizzy and groggy, as though he hadn't quite awakened fully. Hot blood coursed through his veins, and he turned to her sleeping form angrily, half expecting her to be staring up from the pillow, celebrating in her victory.

But she simply laid there, unconscious and shivering, her tears puddled on the pillow beneath her cheek as the anchor swirled with silent energy, engulfing most of her arm.

The hammering of his heart slowing, Solas frowned, ashamed at his failure to rouse her from unconsciousness, though in truth, in all likelihood it was not possible at this point, anyway. She had a right to be upset with him; once again, he'd pushed her away, and once again, she was left to suffer the consequences of his actions.

He rose from the cot and reclaimed his robe, slipping it on before pulling the cloak and blankets back up to her neck, tucking her in soundly. If he didn't know better, he would believe her only to be sleeping, ready to rise for her morning tea at any moment… but he did know better.

With great sorrow at his loss, he leaned over and gently kissed her temple. " _Ir abelas, vhenan_ … _Ar lath ma_ ," he whispered as he tucked the stray locks of hair behind her ear. Swallowing his grief, he stood and collected his staff, walking out of the cave into the late afternoon light. He sighed, inwardly relieved at not finding Cole by the fire, and took the opportunity to turn away from the small campsite, making his way quietly into the forest.

"The trees in the Emerald Graves never lose their green leaves."

Startled, Solas jumped, choking off the yelp of surprise that threatened to eek out of his throat. Looking up, he found Cole perched on a low branch in the tree he had currently been walking under. Knowing he had been caught in mid-departure, he waited silently, letting Cole continue his train of thought.

"That's where the forest gets the first part of its name," he said calmly, his voice distant as he mused. "They are everlasting, like the elves once were, like you are… The elves now eventually die, like the trees that grow in other places in Thedas. Their leaves turn different shades of yellow, orange, red, brown… Some rare trees turn purple. The purple is the tree's way of telling parasites that try to burrow in it, ' _Yes, I know I am dying… but you will not take me without a fight._ '"

Cole paused as he reached up to pull a green leaf loose from a branch overhead. "The colours are very pretty, but that's not why the trees do it," he said, almost like a child. "They are stressed, straining and struggling to live, even though they always lose in the end. The harder they fight, the more bright and brilliant their colours are to behold…"

He looked down at his friend, his point made plain. "They cannot stop Winter from coming, Solas. But they become those colours in the end because trees don't give up easily… And that's what makes them beautiful."

Solas closed his eyes, letting the meaning behind Cole's words penetrate him fully, birds chirping happily around them, blissfully unaware of the weightiness of the day's events. "I would bring them the sun," Solas continued the metaphor, "so the trees may never again feel the sting of Winter."

Cole was silent for a moment, picking another leaf and pairing it with the other in his hands in the start of a bouquet. "…A Summer that lasts forever," he wondered, tilting his head slightly at the thought. "But then the trees would never rejoice at the return of Spring…"

His brow furrowing, he shook his head in desolation. Having nothing more to add, and without a word of explanation, Solas turned and slowly walked away.


	17. Chapter 17

Owl hoots echoed through the night sky. Crickets chirped their mating song. Giants snored in the distance, no more a threat than an old, sleeping dog next to a lit hearth. The music of the night was a soothing symphony, never really deviating in its enchanting ability to soothe even the most disturbed souls. He leaned against a large rock face, staring into the drop-off at the edge of the forest, an otherwise dangerous area that the soldiers avoided at night, for one misstep could lead to a man never being seen again, becoming nothing more than a name on a roster and, given ample time, a forgotten ancestor chiselled into a granite slab. He stood back from the edge, arms crossed over his tunic, his past lives coming back once again in the peaceful stillness to perpetually haunt him.

When Fen'Harel was young, he had been a fearless, headstrong rebel with a fixed, sarcastic smirk upon his face, ready to fight for any given reason, and revelling in all life had to offer. He had made freedom and fun his whole reason for existing, having yet to experience real hardship or heartache, loss or betrayal; they were all foreign concepts, things that rarely, if ever, happened in _Elvhenan_ , least of all to him. If he ever found himself in a spot of bother, he could use his cunning tongue and quick wit to weasel his way out of practically anything. It was a young man's game, primarily because he'd virtually invented it. It wasn't unusual for anyone to long for the days of their youth, but he could count the fingers on just one hand of how many were left in Thedas that could even remember his own time… And that number was growing slimmer with every passing Age.

He'd been through this before, at least twice, by his own recollection. When Mythal was murdered, it had been the first time he'd experienced a loss of such magnitude. The unspeakable crime had sent Arlathan into chaos, and forced his hand to act against the violence breaking out. Fen'Harel had gone from the irresponsible, fun-loving, clever prankster disrupting the Pantheon, to the only sensible elf with a plan that didn't involve more war or bloodshed. Whether he could have done anything differently was a question that had dogged him ever since, so to speak, for if he had known at the time what would come of his rash action, he might have waited for another solution to present itself. But then, time had been a luxury he couldn't afford – an ironic state to be trapped in, for an immortal.

Then he had gone into a long sleep, too weakened by the events to continue. Whenever he had done so before, it had been like awakening from a quiet afternoon nap, very little having changed, if at all. An elf could sleep for centuries and not have missed much in the time he was gone. Therefore, it would never have occurred to him that anything would be different when he awoke this time, and he could simply pick back up where he left off, to finish what he had begun, self-assured that mounting tensions would have cooled between the two opposing sides. Little did he know that, while he slumbered, the _Elvhen_ were dying all around him.

Solas uncrossed his arms, thumbing Lavellan's pendant in his grasp, having taken it discretely from her neck before he'd left earlier that afternoon, feeling the grooves and raised patterns over and over to the point that he wouldn't have been surprised if he'd suddenly looked down to find that he had worn the surface smooth. He'd helped with the design of this very symbol a thousand years ago, when he'd risen from _Uthenera_ to find the world in chaos. It had been no accident that he'd said to Cole that he would bring them the sun. He'd used the figure of speech, then, too, and she had found it so appealing that she'd adopted it outright as the symbol of her movement. Now, staring down at the small golden pendant, he remembered his second loss.

Just as Solas had this time around, he had assumed an identity to protect himself from his strange new surroundings. Passing as a former slave from Tevinter was believable enough at the time, especially since everyone alive had more pressing matters with which to concern themselves, namely, dealing with the First Blight. He spent his nights in the shadows, piecing together what had happened in his absence, and there, he had made a name for himself among the People, and was amassing a large number of escaped elven slaves to attack the weakened Imperium and free the rest from their shackles. They operated as a gang that called themselves "Shartan", a name they had all assumed for themselves to strike fear into the slave owners. Unofficially, he was the one who could rightfully be labelled as _the_ Shartan, but the idea of this fabricated warrior going about and wreaking havoc on the Imperium was sinister and effective. A group whose leader wasn't easily traced, operating out of the unassuming town of Solas…

And then he had met Andraste.

At first, it had been merely convenience to merge with Maferath's forces under Andraste's banner. Her zealous dedication to the Maker wasn't important; what had mattered first and foremost was their shared hatred of slavery and the Tevinter Imperium. She blamed them for the Blight and for causing her Maker to turn His back on His children with their worship of the Old Gods, and Shartan blamed them for the subjugation and enslavement of the People. It was a perfect match. Over time, he had grown to admire Andraste and her keen ability to inspire her followers, and unexpectedly, they had become close friends and allies. From Andraste, he'd learned that belief was a strong uniting force, and through her leadership, they'd all but crushed the Tevinter Imperium…

When Maferath betrayed his wife to the enemy in exchange for peace, though, all had been lost. Shartan had fought defiantly against her capture, but despite his rage, they'd taken her away to be summarily executed as an example. As he'd struggled against his captors and watched helplessly as she was dragged away in chains, he'd cried out to Andraste one final time before he was struck from behind, along with countless soldiers of his brave army.

As he later discovered through what texts remained of his contributions, they all believed he had died then and there. He very nearly had, but luckily, he was able to slip into his long sleep once more, his only solace being that, when he awoke, at least the chains he'd fought to shake from the bones of his People were no more. If only he hadn't been forced to undergo _Uthenera_ once again, he might have been able to lead them all safely to the Dales and teach them of their culture, restoring it to them forever… But it was never to be.

He'd failed Mythal, failed Andraste, watched these inspirational women fall into the unforgiving hands of death by betrayal… And now it was happening all over again, the only disturbing contrast being that, this time around, he had become the betrayer…

To give up now was like trying to swallow a bitter poison. How could he simply accept what he had resigned himself now to do? The look on Lavellan's face when she'd correctly guessed his plan to retake the anchor made him shudder inwardly, her expression burned like a branding onto his memory forever. If there was any way he could take the anchor without having to first lose her, he'd have thought of it; he'd been theorising a plan to do so since day one, but he hadn't anticipated on growing this attached to her. It had been an eternity since he'd felt anything remotely like this, and never before had an attraction developed beyond the physical. Why did she have to have such a marvellous spirit? By just being herself, she had made his plan that much harder to bear.

There had to be a way, something he was not seeing. Hope had said that Lavellan was not lost, yet – not if he held true. The answer laid with him, and yet he couldn't find it. It was frustrating. Frightening. Time for her was growing shorter by the minute, and he was still going around in circles in his mind. To gain the anchor for himself, she would have to die… but to save her, he would have to sacrifice his power. How could he gain the anchor _and_ save her? Perhaps that was the problem; perhaps he couldn't do both…

Theoretically, if he forfeited his plan to reclaim the mark, that still didn't present any viable options on how he could stop it from spreading. Amputation? No, the stress would only cause the mark to activate and spread too quickly – even if he'd hacked her whole arm off, the anchor would jump to a higher place on her body before the limb was removed entirely, so that was out. Finding other rifts to close, to drain the energy? There were none left within the Inquisition's sphere of influence; there were others they could possibly find up north, in the warmer countries, but their locations were unknown, and they would never reach them in time. Even if they managed to find one and close it together, once those rifts were closed as well, the affliction would arise anew in her flesh.

_In the darkest hour will come the answer you seek._

He looked up at the stars, brilliant points of light all around him, the large, full moon illuminating his surroundings: more elven ruins for which he felt responsible for their deterioration over the centuries. Vines curled through cracks in the stonework, their white midnight blossoms blooming and taking in the cool light… Midnight.

The darkest hour.

Trusting in Hope, he pocketed the necklace in his hand and put his staff out before him, making his way back through the thick forest to the cave. If the idea came to him, it should happen at any moment, now. And when it did, he wanted to be with Lavellan before it was too late.

Before he could fail her, too.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

_Solas, are you coming back?_

Silence.

_You promised you would answer. You cannot leave her like this!_

No response.

Cole heaved a heavy sigh from the core of his spirit. Solas had shut him off from his mind as soon as he'd left, and had been unreachable ever since. It wasn't fair that he had left them like this, with no idea of when he would be returning… if at all.

Lavellan was still motionless in her cot as she lay unconscious, beads of sweat on her pale forehead. Sensing she was overheating, he pulled the blanket down and fanned her gently. She needed water. He put his arm behind her and lifted, propping her head against his shoulder as he pressed a cup of cool river water to her lips. The clear liquid pooled and dribbled out the sides of her mouth, so he tried again, tilting her head back. She coughed and sputtered, splashing Cole, though he was more concerned that she not choke and die of accidental drowning.

Lowering her back down to the pillow, Cole rose and began to pace the confines of the cave as he watched her, a hand on his hip as he thought. _Solas_ , he reached out one last time, _if you're there, please answer me… Are you abandoning us?_

He waited. And waited. And just as he had suspected, there was no answer.

Solas wasn't coming back. They were truly on their own.

Lavellan was deteriorating fast, and she was in a great deal of constant pain. Her head throbbed, her arm was being crushed in a red hot vice, and the sensations were strong enough for Cole to physically feel the intensity for himself. The crowd inside her mind had even gone silent, whether to be kind to her, or in silent reverence for their own impending demise, or none of those things, he could not tell. He was blind in all this darkness.

 _Fine_ , he thought resignedly. Not wanting to make a mess of the bed, Cole made his way to Lavellan's side and scooped her into his arms, bringing her to the mouth of the cave and laying her down on the cold, hard floor. He wasn't going to allow her to suffer any longer for his inaction.

He still had options… The easiest solution would be to kill her. He'd performed this service before for mages that were scared and dying in the Spire. It would be easy enough.

Drawing a single, wicked dagger, the metal sang to life in his hands, the steely note reverberating off the dark walls. The candlelight danced off the surface of the shining blade, a promise of deliverance from her continued existence. He hadn't killed a friend before, but to offer her this mercy, though it would hurt him to do it, was a good thing. With a shuddered breath, he turned the blade down and held the tip just over her heart.

The blade hung in mid-air. Though he wanted nothing more than to plunge it down into her chest and spare her this prolonged death, he couldn't help but hear Rhys in his mind, urging him not to kill. He'd said it wasn't right, and Cole knew it, too. All right, so what was left to him?

 _Evangeline_. Rhys' mother had given the Spirit of Wisdom to her after she lay slain in the sewers under Val Royeaux. The spirit had saved her from death, even though it had killed Rhys' mother to do it… It was his only other option. The ultimate sacrifice that he could make for his friend.

Cole slid his dagger back into its sheath, turning Lavellan's face toward him with a gloved, filthy hand. When he did this, there would be nothing left of who he was, and no going back. Only the virtue of Compassion would continue to live on, and not his self-identity. That part, the part that was Cole, would die… but the spirit, the essence of what he was, would live on in her. He would be a spirit within, unlike what he had been for the real Cole, who had perished in the dungeon of the Spire all that long time ago.

"Lavellan," Cole spoke to her calmly, "can you hear me?" But like Solas, she was unresponsive. If he could just tell her, before there was nothing left of himself…

"Lavellan, I don't know if you're listening, but I might n-not be able to tell you later…" He felt a small tear drop from his eye and heard it as it hit the floor beneath him. "Your clan… Some still live. Atisha saved them..." Slipping the delicate halla pendant around her neck, he noticed that her other necklace, the one Cassandra had given her that she wore constantly, was gone. But it didn't matter now. "In case you can't hear me, you'll see this when you get better, and you'll know..."

He reached up and removed his hat, setting it beside Lavellan before bringing his hands to the amulet around his neck… The one she had given him so he could not be bound. Taking it off, he gave it one final glance before he kissed its surface and gently eased the thin leather strap over her head, the amulet draping low on her rib cage. He could make out each individual bony rib as she wasted away, her breath shallow under his hands which now rested high on her chest.

"I promised that I would always protect you," Cole muttered under his breath with determination. "You are a purple tree. I _won't_ allow you to suffer like this, not when I can do something. You helped the weak and the small, and you'll keep on helping… I know it.

"I'll always be with you. I'm sorry it had to end this way… And please don't be angry with me."

Lavellan's eyes remained closed, her furrowed brow the only slight indication to her awareness of what was happening around her as the hands upon her chest lit up the darkness.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

Solas arrived at the encampment, bowing his head for a moment as his shoulders slumped in momentary defeat. No bright ideas had come to him during his quiet walk back, and he was no closer to a solution than he had been when he'd left that afternoon. Rubbing his eyes in exhaustion, he walked to the campfire, his keen eyes searching the fireside for his spirit friend. When he found nothing, he glanced up at the trees, thinking perhaps he still perched on a limb, awaiting his return. Again, his eyes could not locate anyone nearby.

It was more than likely, then, that Cole was currently behind the vines with Lavellan, tending to her on the cot. After a deep breath, Solas shook his head and resigned himself to go inside. _Hope is not lost, not so long as you continue to look for the path_ , her words echoed in his mind. _Trust yourself_. He sighed heavily and parted the vines, stepping inside.

Whatever he had expected to find, this was the furthest thing from his mind. The area was lit too well for it to simply be the candle flames. Puzzled, he looked down at the source of the light –

And cried out in dismay.

" _Cole, no!_ " Solas reached his hand out, placing it firmly on the spirit's illuminated shoulder, and dispelled him instantly, interrupting the connection with Lavellan.

Repelled, Cole skidded across the cave floor, coming to a stop just short of the tussled cot, the light emanating from him snuffing out slowly. He grunted in pain and confusion, and used every ounce of strength left to get his arms beneath him to push himself back up, but he was far too weakened to move, instead lying on his stomach and groaning with dizziness as the world swam around him in waves.

Solas watched in concern as Lavellan turned on her side, retching on the floor. There was nothing in her stomach to lose, though, and she merely heaved, curled into herself as she moaned in agony. She wasn't quite awake, it seemed, but Cole's actions had at least brought her out of unconsciousness momentarily.

Storming over to the spirit, he pulled him up to pin him down flat against the cot, a finger in the young spirit's face. "That was _foolish_ ," Solas reprimanded him sternly. "What were you thinking? You would have been killed!"

Cole gasped for air, aching all over from his broken transference. "You c-came back," he stumbled on the words, his tongue like a fat slug in his mouth. "Oh, Solas, I don't feel well…" His eyes danced across the rock ceiling above, unable to focus or make sense of the shapes in his swirling vision.

"Of _course_ you don't, Cole, don't you understand? Had I not arrived when I did, there would be nothing left of you except what remained in her body!"

"I know," Cole coughed, his hand over his face to stop the spinning, "I didn't think you'd come back. You weren't answering me, and then – Oh, I feel like the Chargers after four casks of ale."

"Breathe deeply," Solas urged him, sympathy coming back to him reluctantly. Cole had wanted to help; that was natural for Compassion when faced with such circumstances. Solas shouldn't have shut his mind, should have let him know he was walking back… "This is my fault. I should not have left you alone," he sighed. "Are you well?"

Cole raised a hand and grasped Solas' forearm, giving it a weak squeeze in an attempt to steady himself whilst reassuring the worried elf. "I think I am still me."

"Good," Solas nodded gratefully, "stay that way, please."

"I didn't mean to scare you," Cole peered at him in the candlelight blearily. "I just thought that if I passed my spirit on to her, she might be healed. I didn't care what happened to me. She's dying… I just wanted to help her."

"Hmm," Solas murmured in understanding. "Perhaps not so foolish, then, but a noble sentim-"

He froze, staring ahead at the cave wall in front of him with round eyes. "Wait," he whispered almost soundlessly, unable to breathe as a shock ran through his blood and coursed through his whole body. "…Say that again."

"Which part - about wanting to help her?" Cole offered, alerted to Solas' sudden shift in attitude.

"Not that bit," he urged him hurriedly, eyes gone blank and unreadable. "What you said about your spirit."

Cole swallowed, sitting up on the cot slowly, still aching all over. "It would be easier if I could read you… I was trying to pass my spirit to her, to help her resist the mark…"

Rising, Solas stood in place, his fists clenching and relaxing repeatedly, knuckles gone white. He moved suddenly, not quite in a pacing motion, but in a start and stop, rusted dance, as though he was calculating sums in a mad rush. "No," he muttered slowly, "no, she _couldn't_ have meant… but then what _else_ …" He placed a hand over his chin, rubbing at his mouth in deep thought.

"Solas," Cole asked him apprehensively, "what are you doing?"

He stopped abruptly in the middle of the dim cave and let out an amused, absurd chuckle, unnerving Cole. "'Look for the answer _within_ yourself', she said. 'Only you hold the _key_ ', she said. Hope couldn't tell me – I had to see it, myself!" Solas laid a hand atop his head, a look of dread overcoming his features. "I cannot – how could she – but if I do _that_ , then…"

Cole stood up slowly, trying to get his bearings beneath him. "I'm not strong," he observed, propping himself against the cold wall. "I can barely…" He shook his head, a hand on his forehead as he attempted to concentrate and ground himself.

Solas was paying no attention, the thoughts racing through his mind faster than he could acknowledge them. He felt suddenly ill at the notion, but realistically, there was no other option. This was the only way to truly save her. "I'll take her back," he chuckled to himself quietly. "When she's healed I'll take her back, along with the mark, and everyone gets what they need. It's perfect!"

 _When it comes to you, do not hesitate_.

Setting his jaw in final decision, he glanced across the cave floor to Lavellan. This wouldn't work unless she consented. "Thank you, Cole," Solas said absently, his heart hammering in his chest. "You may have helped simply by making her conscious."

"You have an idea?" The spirit asked, hope filling his innocent voice.

Narrowing his eyes in concentration, Solas shrugged off his robe, throwing it haphazardly toward the cot and stepping toward Lavellan. "I do. But we must act quickly. She does not have long."

Cole stumbled slowly after him, finally coming to sit above Lavellan's head on the floor. For a moment, he began to send calming waves over her, but Solas shushed him with a wave as he took a seat at her side. "No, don't," he implored, "if you do that, she may lapse back, and I need her alert for this."

"That's okay," Cole gurgled sickly, "I don't think I have it in me, anyway…"

Lavellan groaned, sweat pouring from her brow and running through her hair, and she groped her upset stomach as she rolled onto her side, facing Solas. He sat still, his legs tucked under him, waiting anxiously for her to stop gagging. When her glowing hand knocked against his thigh, the action seemed to catch her attention. She opened her eyes slightly, and upon making out his shape through the dim candlelight, she jerked in surprise and rolled onto her back again, the sudden jolt causing her physical pain. She panted and whimpered slightly, her lips moving with unheard questions.

"She's scared," Cole whispered. "She doesn't know what's happening to her."

As Solas nodded his acknowledgement of this assessment, the anchor sprang to life in her arm, creating a sound akin to dropping an activated shock staff in a large puddle. She winced, gritting her teeth while sucking in shallow, ragged breaths, and he picked the offending hand up, raising it to his face to study the mark up close. Lavellan's fingers convulsed in a violent spasm, the pain evident as he pressed into her palm with cautious fingers. How strong was it? Would the act cause it to explode with energy? Maybe he ought to wait for it to subside before he tried anything. Cole had rubbed it before; perhaps he should give that a shot to calm her…

He spread her fingers, pulling them one by one, then licked his lips thoughtfully as he touched her palm gingerly to gauge her reaction. When she simply stared in confusion, Solas rubbed his thumb in a massaging motion, watching closely for signs of change in the anchor, hoping that he was doing this properly.

He must have done something incorrectly, though, for she pulled her hand from his and rolled onto her side, facing away from him as she uttered a low, sickly moan. The mark only seemed to be growing throughout her arm. Disheartened, he watched as she curled on the floor, her consciousness waning once more.

"You were right, _vhenan_ ," he urged her gently, keeping his voice low and soft to comfort her. "I've lost too much already… I cannot lose you, too."

She didn't seem to hear anything he was saying. Cole shot him a deeply concerned look as he nodded for Solas to continue.

Solas' heart was pounding in his ears. He needed her to hear him and agree to his offer. If she did not, this would fail. "Are you a willing host, _da'len_?"

Her breathing quickened, and he hovered a hand over her arm, afraid to touch her lest she become too frightened and the mark spread further. Remorse flooded him, then, as he watched her quiet panic shiver through her frail body. "I am sorry for your pain, my Heart… I never intended for the orb to harm you."

Lavellan paused, ceasing in her shivering, and turned her head to peer over her shoulder at him, her face full of distress and terror. "What…?" It was all she could manage before her voice choked off. She sounded like death itself.

He closed his eyes, pushing down his impulse to rush through the question. It was an imperative that she understand totally before he acted. " _Vhenan_ , I need you to trust what I am about to do… I don't believe it will, but there are risks involved and this could harm you… irreversibly. You need to understand -" He swallowed, desperate for moisture in his drying mouth. "This is the only way, I'm sorry… Will you consent to -"

The anchor exploded violently, sending Cole against the wall of the cave and causing him to cry out, stunned. In shock, Solas discovered that he was lying on his back, having been blown backwards from the force of the blast.

This was it. There was no time left.

" _Fenedhis_ ," he growled in determination to see this through, scrambling back up and ignoring the pain in his neck as he knelt over Lavellan. Her back arched impossibly as the mark spread slowly but surely through her entire body, and her screams, though loud and agonised, could barely be heard over the chaos reverberating off the walls.

" _The song_ ," Cole shouted, his hands crushed over his ears, " _it's angry! Solas, make it stop!_ "

He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him as he shook her bodily, desperate to get her attention. " _Vhenan_! Listen to me, now, _listen to me!_ You _must_ agree to this! Do you accept?! Give me a nod! _Something_!" His voice broke, cracking as fear overcame him. "Say yes, just _say yes!_ "

She couldn't say anything, couldn't hear him over her own shrill cries, and the anchor snapped loudly as it washed over her entirely, her eyes nothing but holes of green electricity arching on her contorted, cracked face.

Unable to hesitate a second longer, he pushed her flat and beckoned the spirit of Mythal out. _Go now_ , he commanded her, _take the elf!_

In an instant, the ancient spirit of his oldest friend came forth from her dormant existence at the back of his mind, flowing out of him in a blue, smoking cloud of glittering dust on the wind. Blowing toward Lavellan with purpose, she swirled in curious anticipation, entering the body eyes-first and forcing the power of the anchor back. It felt like an eternity, waiting for the entirety of the spirit to leave him and flow into Lavellan.

Cole was frozen in a transfixed horror, his pale, round eyes watching the proceedings with a mingled sense of desolate hope and unbridled fear. His mouth hanging open, he crawled on hands and knees to her side, brushing the hair from her eyes as the pale blue cloud finished its journey...

...And all was still.

Solas collapsed noisily, his muscles giving out totally as he slacked against the floor, physically, mentally, and spiritually drained. His mind felt like mud, his body twitching with the loss of all strength as he tried in vain to move. He was outside himself, staring down at his breathless body lying prone on the cave floor. Every instinct shouted for him to subside into a long sleep, to enter _Uthenera_ now and recover. In that moment, at the loss of the spirit he'd kept safe inside, Solas wanted nothing more. Life was ebbing, draining, leaking away… He closed his eyes, and embraced the darkness.

_No…_

His eyes shot open, pupils dilating in reaction to the bright light in his mind's eye. _No_ , he fought it suddenly. _Not this time_. The world came slowly back into focus.

Solas wheezed loudly and coughed, returning to the moment, and instantly regretted his decision. How long had he been out? His body was as stiff as ice, as though he'd awoken on the cold, wet ground in the eerily quiet aftermath of a smoking battlefield, the ring in his ears a deafening roar. The scene playing out before him didn't do anything to erase the comparison from his mind, a sick denial washing over him.

Cole was sprawled on the floor next to Lavellan, who laid in a lifeless pose, frozen in the throes of a gruesome death. The spirit shook her gently, and she rocked at his touch, stiff and empty as a husk.

"Lavellan, wake up," Cole's voice trembled in the darkness, his breath ragged and disbelieving. "Wake up… It's over, Bunny," he begged like a small boy not understanding why his sister wouldn't arise from her coffin.

Solas was stuck in limbo, his thoughts hurtling him somewhere between horror, shock, and utter turmoil. "Oh, no," he uttered softly, rolling onto his back and pushing himself up on an elbow. With a strained groan, he rose weakly to his knees, moving slowly toward her body…

Her lifeless body.

"No," Solas shook his head in frustration, bitter tears stinging his sharp blue eyes. "No, no… No, it… wasn't supposed to happen this way…" His breath was as shaky as his two hands as they reached out to touch –

" _Don't_ ," Cole roared, pushing his trembling hands away. After a moment of nothing but silence, the spirit let out a desperate sob, clutching the body in his arms. " _Don't lay a finger on her_ ," he rasped angrily. " _You've done enough!_ "

Covering his mouth, Solas rose from his knees, his legs like rubber under his weight, and he stumbled about, lost in a terrible dream. He'd hesitated, waited too long. He should have waited for her consent... "Please, _no_ ," he said to the darkness, the finality of it all breaking like a wave against his psyche.

Mythal was gone. The mark containing his power was no more. And his Heart…

"Just _give_ it a minute," his voice pleaded gratingly in his own ears. "It cannot _end_ this way... I have nothing left."

He was slammed bodily from behind, pushed forward against his will until is skull met the hard rock wall of the cave with a harsh thud. His vision swam, lights dancing before his eyes at the impact.

" _You_ have nothing left?!" Cole seethed with rage in his ear." _You killed her!_ The spirit was with you from the moment you arrived, and _you held it back selfishly!_ "

" _Cole_ ," he wheezed out, gasping hard, "please _believe_ me, it didn't occur to me until – "

He froze in shock as the sound of steel hissed from behind, and for a moment, Solas nearly let the spirit do it. There was nothing else for which to live; all his hopes of restoring _Elvhenan_ , the People, of saving her, were all brushed away like so much dust on the floor, now possessing as much hope for the future as a grieving father holding his dead child.

The dagger at his neck pressed against his spine, and he trembled in a heavy mix of sorrow and guilt. Despite it being all he deserved, he couldn't let his friend go through with it. "Cole," he tried to reason around his bobbing Adam's apple, "listen to my voice...You will _despair_ if you kill me now… don't do this to yourself…"

Cole's breath was hot on his cheek, on the very edge of abandon with his urge to kill so high, his body growling with the hunger for vengeance. Then the tenor of his voice changed, and he felt the vibration surge through his core as the razor-sharp blade clanged noisily against the floor. With a rough shove, Solas was released, and he fell to his knees in a heap, his vision blurring through his silent tears.

" _Get. Out._ "

Wincing, he once again forced himself to his feet, turning toward the mouth of the cave and staggering toward the vines. Turning, he watched helplessly as Cole laid next to her body, curling against her like a loyal dog next to his master.

"I tried," he offered weakly, empty of life and purpose. "I'm sorry I… failed you." He couldn't conjure the words to express his deep, unceasing sorrow. There was nothing in this tongue that could convey the sort of loss this entailed.

" _Mala suledin nadas_ ," he whispered to the lost spirit. "Now you must endure…"

Solas turned and walked through the vines, falling in an emotional void next to the dying fire in the midnight air, the wood nothing more than smouldering, charred rubble amongst the ashes. He had nowhere else to go, no way to move forward. All was lost forever, in a moment's decision… Never in his life had anything mattered more… but nothing good ever came from what he did. He truly was the Bringer of Nightmares… Even his own. And he would die alone, after all.

" _Ma ghilana mir din'an_ ," he wept solemnly.

_Guide me into death._

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

Cole stroked her tangled hair as he lay next to her, his friend now breathless and broken in the darkness. The chasm inside him opened wide, its shadowy fingers tugging at his clothes as he tried to make sense of what had happened. What was he going to do now? How was he going to tell Varric and Cassandra that he had failed to protect her? It had happened so suddenly. How could this be real…?

An old Elvish whisper began to sing slowly in his weary mind, one he had not heard previously... Soothing, soft, sweet-sounding to his sinking spirit. It wrapped around him and embraced him, like a mother to her child, and the chasm closed, protecting him. He took comfort from it, his shattered being lifted and warmed. A fire lighting in a cold hearth. A blanket bracing against a brisk breeze.

Maybe it was time to go… The Fade had always called to him, an open-ended invitation to return across the Veil whenever he wished to come back. Losing himself there would be better than becoming a demon here, and he didn't think he could face Skyhold again, having seen all he had. Although, the others _did_ deserve to know what had happened to Lavellan before he crossed back…

The song was growing louder in his ears, building on itself subtly. Frowning, he wiped at his eyes, opening them again to make sense of the sound.

Lavellan's chest rose and fell.

Cole gasped in shock. "Lav-"

The Veil shook ever so slightly before her lids shot open, eyes bright with the ethereal glow of an unmistakable truth.

" _Solas_ ," he screamed at the top of his lungs. Whether time crawled by unbearably slowly or Solas hadn't heard him, Cole couldn't tell. All he could see before him was her body, standing upright with a grace and surety that he'd never seen in her before. When she turned to him again, her eyes flashed like the tell of a coming storm.

Solas burst through the vines, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot with spent tears. "Cole?"

And then he froze, his mouth agape as he debated whether this was a hallucination or a cruel nightmare.

"Ah, Dread Wolf," she smiled with Lavellan's sweet voice. The sweetest music Cole had ever heard. "Is this the result of all your 'careful planning'?" She laughed delightfully, her hand on her chest in mirth. It sent a shiver through them to hear it.

Solas stared disbelievingly at the newly animated woman before them."Mythal," he whispered breathlessly, blinking repeatedly to clear the mental haze that seemed to deny reality. "By the gods, you live!"


	18. Chapter 18

She was a bright light in the darkness, her eyes glowing blue as Veilfire on her pale face. For all intents and purposes, the woman standing in the middle of the dimly-lit cave dwelling was a living, breathing miracle. Her lips moved, but he could not register the words straight away, too swept up by the fact that she stood before him now, having defied the odds against her, completely alive and well. For a moment, it was all he could do not to race to her and gather her into an unending, rib-crushing embrace. The two most important women in his life had a way of surviving the impossible that beggared belief… But they were back, and purely by extension, so was he.

"Have you been listening at all to a word I've said?" She asked, her words finally cutting through his momentary haze.

Rubbing a hand over his sore eyes, the worry line between Solas' brows creased as they came together and he shook himself back to the present. "Excuse me, I… must have missed it," he muttered lamely, silently begging her pardon with a small nod of greeting.

Mythal smirked to herself, a hand on her hip. Lavellan's smirk. Lavellan's hip. "I said, 'Not by the gods. Just one god.' Oh," she waved a frail hand, "it's not as clever if you make me repeat myself, Dread Wolf. Are you going deaf in your old age? It's quite drafty in here, isn't it?" She cackled to herself at that. "I meant in this cave, but I suppose it would be more appropriate to refer to this sickly body. I don't understand how mortals can live like this – well, I suppose they can't, can they? That's why they're mortals."

He frowned to himself in the candlelight, put off by this sudden shift in tone of the strenuous evening. Her rapid-fire questions were too much to keep up with as everything around him felt as though it was submerged in a lake, his reactions slowed as he swam for the surface. "Old friend, you don't… sound yourself," he observed. He did not specify to whom his comment was aimed, but it easily applied to both the spirit of Mythal and Lavellan, in this instance.

"Yes, the bond between Flemeth and myself ran deep," she replied, ignoring the subtle implication that he might not be only speaking of her. "It seems the old woman is still with me in some interesting ways. I will miss her greatly; she had such a wit about her, you know."

He saw Cole out of the corner of his vision casting glances between the two of them from his seat on the floor, paying rapt attention to the proceedings.

"It's likely that you're simply tired," Solas offered soothingly. "That is understandable, considering what you've been through, recently."

"Need I remind you that most of what I've 'been through, recently', dear boy, was in no small part put upon me by none other than yourself?" She turned and walked to the makeshift cot, sifting through the blankets in search of something, and found to her great satisfaction his black robe, slipping it over her form before stopping to fold the tangled blankets and make the bed. It seemed she was making herself well at home in her new surroundings. Ever the adaptable one was she, and it filled his heart with a familiar warmth.

"Forgive me, Mythal," he said to her back as she finished her tidying, "perhaps I do not appear as grateful as I am to see you. I had thought for a moment that I'd lost you, and I am… apparently at a loss for words over this development."

"Oh, never mind that, now. This is a happy occasion! Crack a smile, Dread Wolf," she beamed, coming back into the fold as she cinched the sash about her waist. "You're always so glum, nowadays. It almost makes me miss the mischievous little brat of a child you used to be."

He was reluctant to join her in their shared memories of bygone eras, what with his concern for Lavellan's well-being, but it had been so long since he'd spoken so plainly about the past that he found himself tantalisingly drawn in. "I merely enjoyed myself… Perhaps if the others had done similarly, the peace talks wouldn't have deteriorated as quickly."

"Well, you certainly fixed that, you clever thing," she remarked, a hint of disapproval in her tone.

"Need I remind you, they _killed_ you, Mythal. Do you mean to tell me that you would _not_ have sent them to their rooms and locked the doors until they reflected upon their actions?" He felt the heavy weight return to his chest like a rock, and was immediately annoyed at himself that he'd made mention of the Fall of Arlathan. This hadn't been the walk down memory lane that he'd been longing for.

Mythal sighed to herself, the round points of light on the thin face narrowing. Her eyes were unsettling; though he understood them to be indicators of Mythal's dominant spirit within the body, it was still alarming to realise just whose body was under her control. "Oh," she agreed sadly, "they were so quick to anger – you were like that at times, as well, so don't think yourself morally superior. Even so, you were always my smartest child, Fen'Harel. What matters is that the little timeout you put them in is long since over."

Stunned, he blinked, shaking his head slowly. "I am not your child. None of us were," he corrected her bluntly.

"Oh, semantics," she waved a dismissive hand in his direction, "so I adopted you; call it what you like. My children are all dear to me, even if they refuse to think of me as their mother."

Cole rose to his feet slowly, unsure of himself. "I can hear her, but she's not _here_ ," he breathed, stepping closer to Solas as he backed away from the strange new spirit. "W-Where is Lavellan?"

"That's an excellent question, Cole," Solas said, crossing his arms and standing firm as the spirit boy took slight shelter behind him. "Where is Lavellan, Mythal? I presume she likewise pulled through, or am I mistaken?" His heart quickened as the question left his lips. It hadn't occurred to him until then that Mythal may be the sole occupant of the body, but he took care to make no show of his tension.

"Is that the Inquisitor's name? I met her once before, but didn't catch it, then. _La-vell-an_ ," she rolled out the name on her tongue slowly. "Isn't that a clan name? Hmm, I must remedy that." Coming to herself, she raised her brows and met his guarded eyes. "She is present, but I am at the forefront, now… My, she has such power… Such great _potential_ I can tap into…"

Solas felt his knees tremble at her words, having gone from stark relief to wary apprehension in record time. "What are you implying? " He asked suspiciously.

Mythal hummed a small chuckle, her mouth closed in a slight smile. "You're a clever man, Fen'Harel, cleverer than most; you should have no trouble figuring this out."

Indeed, he had no trouble at all catching the subtle machinations going on behind her glowing eyes, and decided to let her down gently before this continued. "This is naught but a temporary arrangement, Mythal… Do not get comfortable in there."

"A _temporary_ arrangement," she mulled the words over, her curiosity piqued. "Now, why would this be temporary, I wonder…?" She tapped her chin in consideration, looking down upon the form she now occupied. "It might have been an impulsive decision, but it was a good one, for once. You have given me a body with the power of the orb at her fingertips, and I am essentially immune from her scar's negative effects. Aside from that, she is a sprightly young thing – not to mention a handsome woman, too. Yes, she'd make for a lovely new…"

Though he fought it with every ounce of his weakened being, Solas felt his face flush hot as his body stiffened noticeably at her words. Mythal stared at him critically, scrutinising his mannerisms, and he looked away under her glowing gaze, moving his hands to his hips and shifting his weight with nervousness. There was little use trying to hide it. He knew instantly that she had sussed him out, and he closed his eyes in defeat.

"Oh, is _that_ it…?" She gasped, rocking slightly to and fro on her heels as she crossed her arms delicately in victory. "Does 'He Who Hunts Alone' hunt alone no longer? I may be immortal, but I _never_ thought I'd live to see the day that the infamous Dread Wolf chose a suitable life mate! To be able to tame you, she is _far_ more powerful than I first imagined! And you never sent your dear mother a wedding invitation." She let out a hearty laugh that echoed through the small confines of the rudimentary shelter.

Agitated, Solas debated whether he should open his mouth again, knowing it would only go to incriminate himself further. As the silence grew, however, it only served to solidify her pleasure at his growing awkwardness. "She and I are no longer – that is to say… There was never anything established to that effect," he clarified, hoping to deny her the privilege of taking joy in his discomfort.

Mythal grinned deviously, having apparently been denied nothing of the sort. "But you would not have minded if there was, correct? Why, Dread Wolf, I would _never_ have pictured you as the type to settle down. I seem to recall your mantra was, 'Attachments get in the way'."

"It seems that is still the case," he glowered.

"What is different about this one that sets her apart from the other beauties, hmm?" Mythal wondered, clasping her hands behind her back as she paced the length of the cave leisurely. "I still remember that lovely girl whom worked in my stables. What was her name? Oh, I'm sure you never learned it – that wasn't the sort of thing you wanted from her. And don't think I'm not aware of what you got up to in that hay loft, dear boy," she grinned relentlessly.

Straightening at the memory, his eyes rounded, fully aware of the fact that Lavellan was present and conscious to every word being spoken. He blanched at the thought of her listening in on an impromptu list of his past conquests. "Please stop now," he very nearly pleaded with his old friend, his voice a touch louder than he'd meant it to be.

If Mythal heard him at all, she didn't seem to care overmuch. "Or what of the one with the long black hair in Arlathan? Or the other one with the round…?" She made a lewd indication with her hands, causing Solas to cover his face in humiliation.

"Yes, yes, enough! You've had your fun, but if you recall, they're all dead now, and I will thank you not to mention them in… her presence."

Stopping in her tracks, Mythal turned to him, her mouth agape. "…Oh, my, but this _is_ serious! You must be quite taken with her!" She placed a hand over her heart in mock pride. "And the leader of the second Inquisition, no less! She's a bit more high-profile than you're used to. You were more one for the help, or any lowly girl from the villages that was willing to lift her skirts for you in the woods."

Exasperated, he threw his hands up in frustration. "That's _exactly_ the kind of thing I did not wish you to mention! _Thank you_ , Mythal. I should have expected no less from you."

"Come now," she smiled, her eyes like twin crescent moons, "you were a handsome young man, especially with all that hair. I'm sure she didn't think you just _instinctively_ knew how to bed her - assuming you did, of course. Oh, what am I saying? This is you we're talking about." She laughed again in that jarring way, so mismatched from Lavellan's own laughter that it gave off the niggling sensation of the ground beneath him being off-level. The old laugh simply didn't suit her voice.

"I fail to see the humour in this," he grumbled, looking away as he crossed his arms in annoyance.

"Then you fail once more, Dread Wolf." Tilting her head slightly, she stepped toward him, invading his personal space and causing him to become noticeably more uncomfortable. "Is my new choice of host going to make things awkward for you?" She asked, running Lavellan's small hand over his chest until she took the wolf jawbone around his neck between her fingers, studying it closely as she brushed against his arm antagonistically. "Oh, but you did say you two were no longer an item. What a shame! Whose decision was that? Don't answer, I can take a guess."

Solas grabbed her wrist forcefully, pushing her back from him, his message coming across clearly that she had taken it too far. "Do not make her do anything against her will," he warned her icily. "Lavellan is not some macabre puppet for your entertainment."

She caught his meaning and shrugged him off, feigning disinterest and turning to move to a respectable distance as she worked to maintain her dominance. "I can make her do as I wish," Mythal said, casting a glance at him over her shoulder. "I control her every blink, every single step. But do not fret, my dear; I will tend to your little rabbit while she is burrowed away."

"She's not a rabbit," Cole piped up from behind, causing Solas' heart to jump in surprise. He'd forgotten the spirit was still present. "She's Bunny…"

Mythal turned suddenly, gladdened to have the opportunity to tease reopened. "Aw, is that what you call her?" She clicked her tongue affectionately at Solas. "The Wolf and his Bunny. How sweet."

"No, that's what I call her," Cole replied, seemingly unable to sense the power struggle going on between the two. "He calls her – "

"Cole, do not give her fuel – not that she needs any," Solas cut in, holding up a hand to silence him. He glanced over his shoulder reassuringly, but Cole cowered slightly under his gaze.

With a small sigh, he turned back to use the break in conversation to breach another line of questioning. "I could not get Lavellan's consent in time," he posited coolly. "How were you able to possess her without it?"

She glared defiantly. "I do not need the consent of one who is bound to my will. If I wish to take her for myself, I shall do so!"

His eyes widened slowly, realisation dawning on him. "… _Vir'abelasan_ … I _told_ her not to drink of the Well!"

"Then the only reason she survived her ordeal is because she is a woman who can make her own decisions," she pointed out. "What a smart girl you chose for yourself! That must be why you like her; she doesn't cater to your every whim, as the others did. This one may not be as knowledgeable as us, but we've had a few thousand years more than her to learn… Give her time."

Solas' mouth opened slightly at her words and he glared angrily, flooding his voice with all the authority he could muster. " _No_. I forbid it."

She narrowed her eyes, the pale smoke flashing like lightning for a moment. "You do not command _me_ , Dread Wolf. I left Flemeth _willingly_ to pool our strength, but _now_ …" She lifted her arms from her sides in indication of the body she now possessed. "I have more power than I've had for millennia! And you want me to go back to sitting complacently inside that bald head of yours? I think not," she shook her head, letting her arms lower once more.

"I _said_ no," he rebuked her curtly. "I have already informed Lavellan in no uncertain terms that she could not -"

"This one has offered her aid to our cause? Good. She won't be my 'puppet', then, as you claim. So long as this elf is willing, then I am within my rights as her goddess to use her as I wish."

" _I_ am not willing! It's too dangerous," he stepped forward, waving his hand low in finality.

Mythal laughed at his attempt to assume direct authority over the situation. "She was hardly a wilting flower, before – barring the being dead bit, which is now taken care of."

Refusing to speak more on the matter, he clenched his jaw tightly, the veins popping up on his temple. He shook his head firmly, unwilling to budge on the issue at hand.

Mythal let out a heavy sigh. "My, you are as stubborn as ever! Well then, if that's your attitude," she scoffed in annoyance, "it's not as though I _need_ you, any longer. And, let's face it," she added, her eyes travelling over him in appraisal, "I'm far less likely to suffer any major setbacks without you tagging along."

"Your only purpose there," he ordered her sternly, his face red with bottled anger, "is to heal the Dalish. Once she is sound enough, you will absorb the orb's power, and return it – _and_ yourself – to _me_ ," he stuck a thumb at his chest firmly.

"And how exactly will you force me to cooperate, if I refuse?" She tilted her head, amused.

Her non-acceptance of his specifications rankled him exceedingly. Solas glared, leaning forward threateningly. "It is like you said," he lowered his voice, nodding once in determination, "I am cleverer than most."

With that, he turned and walked confidently toward the vines, brushing against Cole's shoulder as he passed. "Come, Cole. We should warm the stew for Lavellan. No doubt she is hungry." He waited for his young friend, holding the vines open for the spirit to pass through.

"Okay," Cole answered meekly, following hesitantly in his wake. He stopped abruptly and doubled back to retrieve his hat from the ground. "You have an old song, Mythal," he said quietly, meeting her cool gaze. "It's pretty."

"Why, _thank you_ , Compassion," she replied graciously, revelling silently in the impatient face Solas made. "Would you mind bringing me a glass of water, dear? This throat is parched after all that chit-chat."

"I'll get some for you," he agreed helpfully, unaware that he had become an unwitting pawn in her game.

She smiled sweetly. "There's a good lad. And here, I think this belongs to you." She reached down and grasped Cole's amulet from under the robe, pulling it over her head before she stepped toward him and placed it into his waiting hands.

" _Thank you_ ," Cole smiled gratefully. After pulling it over the wide brim of his hat, he turned dutifully and passed through the parted vines to retrieve the water he'd been sent to fetch like a humble servant.

Solas shot Mythal one last look before parting himself, and was irritated profusely to find her smiling back at him serenely. Rolling his eyes in exasperation, he stepped through the vines himself, deciding to warm his back against the chill threatening to creep up on him.

The night air felt cool and inviting on his warm face as he reset the small cauldron and fed the red hot fire pit, the dry wood catching with the help of some encouraging magic he lent it. In stressful situations such as these, he had been partial to removing himself from the situation entirely for a time, the solitude with his own thoughts helping to clear his mind and restore him so that he could continue functioning under the burden he carried. This time, though, it was not an option he could entertain; leaving Cole with sole custody of a possessed friend and an entity who might be inclined to disappear if given half the chance was irresponsible at best, given the fact that they were now in this situation due to his own actions. But to walk among the _vallasdahlen_ under the stars as a solitary man once again was a tempting idea.

"I can take care of her if you need to go," Cole said calmly, finding the washed bowl and setting it down gently on the rock next to the fire, offering to take the ladle from Solas' hands.

"Thank you, Cole, but no," he nodded in reply, keeping his eyes down on the stew sloshing sluggishly as he stirred. "It's not that I doubt your ability to care for her. You have shown yourself to be more than capable, but I should not leave them just now, and since I cannot, I simply… need to find something with which to busy myself. You should get the water; Mythal is a patient woman, but Lavellan needs it more than she does."

"I already did that. She's using it to wash up."

"Did you? Oh," he said, "I must have been… preoccupied."

Cole made himself useful by retrieving a mortar and pestle, picking the leaves from a nearby potted elfroot plant and sitting with the stone bowl on his lap as he ground it into a green pulp. "I can hear you again," he murmured, his face obscured by his brown leather hat.

Solas sighed rather glumly, watching the pot as he continued to stir slowly. "Yes, well, I do not believe there is much point hiding from you, any longer. You know all there is to know, by now."

A brief silence passed between them as they listened to the periodic yipping and baying of the wolves in the distance. "I'm sorry I hurt you," he admitted shyly. "You were right, I should have waited… Thank you for stopping me from killing you."

He chuckled ruefully, rubbing the fatigue from his face with a free hand. "Think nothing of it," he smirked despite himself with a dismissive shrug. "It was my pleasure."

Looking up, Cole paused in his task, not waiting for him to meet his penetrating gaze. "You did all you could, Solas… You saved her, spared her, stopped the spread, soothed the suffering."

He sighed sadly, the worry line returning between his brows as the wood smoke stung his eyes. "You may be correct. Perhaps there truly was no other solution… Though I do not know what my role in this mission is, anymore, or what this new development entails. I'm at a clear disadvantage, weakened as I am now." He ceased in his stirring to place his long hands over his face and breathed deeply, willing himself to think of a plan. How many more times would he continue to be robbed of his power due to his own impulsive behaviour?

"You could forget," Cole offered helpfully, continuing to pulverise the healing leaves. "Lavellan and Mythal can do it on their own… You can be free again."

Solas winced at the thought. It had crossed his mind, but it wasn't an idea that particularly appealed to him, anymore. "Yes, but…" His voice trailed off, and he shrugged, giving the stew another round stir as it began to lurch and bubble.

Cole nodded with the rhythm of his body, rocking slightly after he finished grinding the pulp. "You think you're to blame for all this, so you want to be the one to make things better." He gathered the mixture and scooped it with a spoon into the bowl by the fire, taking the ladle gently from Solas' grasp and pouring the steaming contents over the pulp, stirring the mixture together until the stew was tinged green evenly. "That should help to heal Lavellan," he said to himself, setting it back down on the rock to keep warm near the flames.

Solas closed his eyes, bearing the burden on his shoulders fully again. He didn't just think he was to blame; he _was_ to blame. Another time, another rash decision, one he'd thought irreversible before. Though his solution was seen as drastic, it would certainly go to improve the situation. A few minor details had to be cemented in place before he could ultimately bring the Veil down, but once it was, the lost magic would come back, and all of Thedas would see the glory of the ancient world once more…

"…You could still try," Cole piped in, hearing his stream of consciousness as though he'd spoken aloud, "but it would be easier to let them help you. You gave her the gift of spirit, and if you still care for her…"

He turned and walked the few steps to the outer wall of the cave, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest as the chill grew around him, having left the inviting warmth of the campfire. "I'd rather she be safe from harm than placed in danger because of me," he muttered solemnly. "Even if that means living eternally without her."

Cole joined him, slumping against the wall and staring out into the forest as he continued to search through the hurt, trying to heal it. He breathed softly, mimicking Solas by crossing his arms, as well. "She would rather be in danger at your side than safe without you," he shrugged simply, closing his large, round eyes. "Lavellan has faced danger since the start, but she found solace with Solas, sleeping and sharing in secrets, safe in his embrace… You could still be that for her. A-And she could be that for you."

Solas stared into the fire, the ache in his heart expanding. How he yearned for her to be in his arms at the end of the day to melt away the weight of the world on his back. But how could he even conceive of such a thing? There was no getting around the fact of who he was, and now that she knew, even if she had tried to be understanding, could she even love him still, despite her fears?

"Yes," Cole answered his thoughts. "She's not afraid of the Wolf, anymore _. If you're going to love someone, you should love their flaws, as well, because they make that person who they are_ ," the words flowed from a memory of words spoken between the two that Solas was not privy to.

"She seemed plenty frightened when she discovered the truth," he recalled with a frown, seeing her face full of horror in his mind's eye.

"That's because she didn't believe in the gods, anymore," Cole informed him in confidence, keeping his voice low. "Finding out something you didn't believe is true, that someone you care for is someone you thought didn't exist, is scary, at first…."

Solas nodded slowly in understanding. "I can relate, in a sense… The dissonance between perceptions and reality does tend to give one pause for thought…"

Cole turned to look at Solas, who neatly avoided being brushed by the brim of the hat by leaning away slightly. "Do you think maybe we've met before? I don't remember much from before I went to Cole."

His brows raised for a moment at the idea, a small smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes. "I cannot be certain, but it's possible… I sought counsel with a few spirits of Compassion, in my time. It is a comforting idea."

"Yes, it is," he agreed, his mood lifted a small degree. "I hope I helped you, if you ever came to me."

"Hmm," he nodded to his friend, the glow of the fire beginning to warm him again. "I would not doubt – "

His words dried up immediately in his throat as she emerged from the cave, coming round the corner to join them at the fireside, Lavellan's enchanted white mage robes in hand. Her hair was damp and combed back, and she was wrapped up in Solas' black robe, the Commander's cloak pulled over the top for added warmth and the sash around her waist wrapped tightly around her middle. Cole moved from his side and set a log on the ground for her to have a seat, placing the stew in her waiting hands.

Being around Lavellan while she was possessed by his oldest friend was jarring enough, but seeing her dressed in the familiar red cloak increased his awkwardness unexpectedly. He knew it was no business of his whether anything had happened between Lavellan and the Commander in his absence; it wasn't as though she was promised to him in any way. After all, he had been the one to let her go, so she was free to be with whomever she chose. Still…

"It was a gift," Cole said, coming back to his place against the wall as she ate. "Everyone gave her gifts before she left… It's okay." At this, Solas nodded imperceptibly, tactfully avoiding eye contact with either of them.

"Oh, do not let me interrupt your little moment," Mythal spoke again with Lavellan's voice, already halfway through her supper. "This poor child is starving and cold! Haven't you two been looking after her? It's little wonder she died under such care."

Cole flinched at that, her words cutting him deeply, and Solas was filled with sympathy for him as he fought the smile that made his cheek twitch. The spirit wasn't perceptive enough to detect sarcasm or words spoken in jest; he was a simple creature, hearing only the words a person uttered, but not specifically the intent behind them. Solas popped the brim of Cole's hat in the front with a flick of his finger, and shook his head with a knowing smile, letting him know that she hadn't meant it to hurt him. Her sense of humour was an acquired taste… Or perhaps it was just tasteless.

"I think I will retire for the evening," Solas said finally, rubbing his stiff neck where he'd knackered it after the mark's eruption. "There is… much to reflect upon. Cole, don't hesitate to wake me if there are any changes."

"Yes, you must be so exhausted after your ordeal," Mythal commented dryly as she scraped the bottom of the bowl. "You're usually more impulsive than this, Dread Wolf. I don't know whether I should be pleased that you're more careful in your decisions, or amused that you still believe you have a choice in this matter."

He stretched luxuriously, putting on an air of aloofness to counter her biting tongue. "Perhaps people change," he shrugged after a brief yawn, making his way slowly back to the vines.

Mythal held the bowl up, and to Solas' slight annoyance, Cole leaped forward and took it from her, refilling it almost immediately. "Go, sleep on it – but try not to sleep too long, old friend," she smirked, her eyes flashing. "I will not wait another thousand years for you to roll out of bed."

Glaring into the forest, he muttered under his breath, "Don't tempt me…" Solas turned back briefly and nodded a quick farewell as he walked the beaten path to the mouth of the cave. "Good night, Cole… Sweet dreams, Lavellan," he said, making an obvious point to say nothing to Mythal, herself. He stepped through the vines, hovering by them for a moment to eavesdrop, hugging his elbows close.

"He's not happy," Cole observed, his voice muffled slightly.

"Well, things are returning to normal, then," she sighed softly. "This is lovely stew, Compassion."

"Thank you. I had to learn, but I only know one recipe so far. Lavellan's uncle used to make this, but she's not a very good – Oh… she can hear me, can't she?" Solas smiled gently, somewhat fondly remembering her… interesting experimentation in the culinary arts, to put it delicately.

Mythal let out a surprisingly genuine laugh, possibly having heard Lavellan's likely indignant response somewhere within her. "Let us talk of lighter things, spirit. Tell me, have you ever seen a dragon up close?"

"Yes. They're old and loud. And very angry."

"That sounds about right… I can transform into one at will, you know."

"Really?" He heard the breathless response, brimming with childish wonder. "What is it like?"

"Like unbridled freedom, dear boy."

Satisfied that Mythal was at least going to remain civil with Cole in his absence, Solas made his way to the simple cot, pulled back the newly-made bedding, and extinguished the candle wicks with a licked finger.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

The light shining through his eyelids roused him from his slumber, though to be fair, the headache at the back of his skull might have also been a contributing factor. His mind ached in the space in which Mythal had once occupied, a dull throbbing that had likely occurred due to her abrupt departure. For a tense second, images from the previous night came flooding back, the haunting memories of a slain beloved lying contorted on the cold ground dousing him with renewed dread.

He sat up with a start, regretting the sudden movement almost instantly as sparks flashed in his vision, and he held his aching head, eliciting a quiet groan. Those images would most probably be filed away with the rest of the horrors his brain conjured for him at inopportune moments, there to spring forward without warning for the rest of eternity. But no, he reminded himself, she had yet lived. His mind, drained of the spirit, confirmed that fact soon enough, filling him simultaneously with relief and trepidation. He still felt fatigued, as though his slumber had done nothing to refresh him.

He heard a small clicking to his left and turned with squinting eyes to find the source of this new sound. Cole laid with his head turned to the side against the floor, knees tucked under his chest as he focused on something at ground level. Slowly, he took his fist and placed a blue marble at level with his eye, and sent it purposefully across the room with a finger. Solas followed the little glass ball as it glided across the uneven floor, eventually colliding with a soft _click!_ with a bright green marble near the cot. Satisfied, Cole sat up, a contented smile on his face as his hair once again fell over his eyes. "He's awake," was all he said.

"Unfortunately, he is," Solas replied with a wince as the light passed through the vines swaying gently in the breeze. Then the vines parted, and a feminine silhouette thankfully blocked the sun's rays momentarily as she stepped inside.

"Good afternoon, Dread Wolf," Mythal boomed, slightly more than a hint of sarcasm in her tone. "Nice of you to join us."

" _Afternoon?_ " He repeated in surprise.

"I must admit, you had me worried that you had indeed decided to make a trip to _Uthenera_ , but it seems you were only tired. Pleasant dreams?"

"Not really, no," he admitted huskily, clearing his sleepy throat before continuing. "How is Lavellan faring?"

Mythal lowered herself to the cot, Solas noting that she did not groan laboriously as she did so. It seemed as though the young body was kinder on her old spirit than her previous host had been. "There have been some new developments," she smiled gently.

It put him on edge suddenly to realise that she was speaking out of genuine kindness. Apparently there _had_ been a few developments, considering her attitude adjustment, though if he was honest with himself, he had not done much to dissuade said attitude, last night. "And?" He beckoned her to go on.

The flash in her eye returned. Was that her way of glinting? " _And_ … why don't you ask the girl, yourself?"

Taken aback, he straightened himself automatically, readjusting his tunic and absently running his hand along his scalp. Why he was attempting to make himself presentable was a mystery to him, but sure enough, the light faded from her eyes as the spirit relinquished control of the willowy body. For a time she sat utterly still, her eyes partially glazed over as she stared slightly to the right. Then her gaze shifted to him, and a slow smile spread across her healthy face.

"Solas," she greeted him quietly, her mannerisms instantly softening as she shifted toward him. "Hi."

" _Vhenan_ ," he breathed, a smile overtaking his own features as he moved to gather her into a warm embrace. For a moment, he simply held her, stroking her hair, feeling the breath move in and out of her lungs, enjoying the sensation of her hand gently rubbing his back. He closed his eyes, burying his face in the hair and fur about her neck, and sighed heavily. It was the first he'd actually seen her alive and well since the day he left Skyhold. Since then, nearly two months had gone by, and every day following his departure from the battlefield, he'd longed for such a moment as this. The fact that she actually returned his embrace, given all she now knew of him, merely made it all the more significant to him. It was bittersweet, to say the least.

"You are looking well," he said through his strained throat, pulling back and holding her at arm's length as he appraised her, checking for signs of lingering illness, of which there were practically none.

"I'm feeling well, thanks to you and Mythal," she blushed softly under the scrutiny, lowering her eyes. "Would you like to eat something?" She asked, glancing at the entrance. "Or would you prefer to, um," she stumbled nervously, "go for a walk together?"

Solas opened his mouth to reply, but halted as Cole quickly rose to his feet at her words, catching their attention. "I'd like to go for a walk," he voted happily. "I've missed our walks! Solas, she can go for _walks_!"

"Okay," she laughed, sending their hearts soaring. He couldn't believe the improvements she had made in her health overnight. "You can come, too, Cole. Oh, unless you wanted to eat first," she added belatedly as she looked back at Solas, still half under the blankets.

"No, no," he beamed, shoving the bedding away and rising slowly as he held his aching head, "I could use the fresh air, honestly, and a walk sounds perfect… Do either of you have a particular place in mind you wish to go?"


	19. Chapter 19

So long as they kept their distance from the giants roaming the area to the north, they were safe from harm, although Solas felt good enough to take them all on at once. The soldiers would not dare challenge this territory, having no real need to antagonise the great, lumbering masses, and after the merry band made it past them undetected, they were in the clear to do as they pleased. Come what may, he felt invincible with his friends at his side. It should have been a strange feeling, travelling with companions again, but he welcomed their company with open arms, laughing and reminiscing as they made their way through the brush.

They finally arrived at the elven ruins, no more than crumbled, knee-high exterior walls and a few large stones where the doors once proudly stood. "Do you remember when we killed that dragon here?" Lavellan asked, a grin fighting its way through her words.

"It was a Greater Mistral, actually, and of course I remember. My memory spans back a bit more than yours does." Solas nudged her playfully as they made their way to the far end to stare out into the open drop-off below. He lowered himself to sit along a reasonably comfortable area of the low wall, Lavellan joining him there, and Cole took a seat on the grass near their feet. Solas was once again wearing the large, flopping hat to disguise himself, but removed it and handed it back to Cole once they were settled, knowing that they would not be spotted this far removed from the patrol areas. The spirit donned it once more, picking the flowers growing around him and gathering them into a small pile near his knee.

"Dragon, Mistral, whatever," she smiled. "They're basically the same thing."

"Well, no – Ah, it's not important," he grinned, letting it go with a small wave of his hand.

"I was so mad," she chuckled, her eyes crinkling in the corners. "It was invulnerable to ice, and all I had at the time were ice spells. At least I had my flame staff and my rift mage training, though, but all I could do was shoot it with fire, or punch it in the knees and run like hell."

"We went back to camp to ask Dorian for help," Cole nodded at the memory. "The Iron Bull and Sera were upset that we didn't take them with us."

"Oh, I brought them to every other dragon fight," Lavellan said with a roll of her green eyes. "They'd had their share of the fun; I wanted us to handle it ourselves. I guess I had something to prove to them, but I needed Dorian's fire casting to do it. He was so pissed at me for bringing him," she laughed, wiping a tear from her eye. "'Why do you always do this to me?! Take _those_ two, _they're_ mad enough to go!' And then I said, 'Think of it! Three mages and a spirit slay a deadly beast with no need of warriors!' _Then_ he was on board, but it didn't stop him moaning about it the whole time."

"I'll not soon forget the look on his face when it pitched and died," Solas shook his head, chuckling softly. "The man was beside himself with pride, as always."

Lavellan was gasping for breath, clutching the wall to steady herself. "He told me later that he recounted every single detail to Bull because he begged him to," she cried, barely able to contain herself. "The more Dorian told the tale, the more he made it out like he'd killed it singlehandedly. Bull was so jealous, cursing up a storm and fuming that he didn't get to see it, but Dorian said it, um," she wiggled a brow suggestively, "that it made for good foreplay… It got Bull all 'fired up', so to speak. "

"Well! That was slightly more than I cared to know, _lethallan_ ," Solas cleared his throat, brushing the non-existent dirt from his trousers.

"I don't get it," Cole shook his head, his hands full of daisies. "Play before what? Did Dorian set The Iron Bull on fire?"

"You could say that," Lavellan squeaked. She cleared her throat, adding, "I'll tell you when you're older."

"I'm older than you," he replied innocently. "Or at least I think I am… Maybe not older than Solas, though. You won't tell me, but it's okay. It probably has something to do with the way their insides bubbled when they were near each other. I could see it burning inside them, brighter as they drew closer until it burst, red hot in their bellies."

"It seems I spoke too soon," Solas shook his head, trying to clear the mental image. " _That_ was more than I cared to know."

Lavellan sighed loudly, cocking her head to the side. "Ah, I miss that man and our morning teas. I wonder what he's up to now… Do you think he'll go back to Tevinter? Maybe try to shake things up back home and bring about reform?"

"I do hope that is his intention," Solas nodded, watching as Cole strung the flowers together, making small incisions in the stems with his dagger and passing a daisy through, repeating the process until it created an unbroken chain. "Reform is desperately needed. If anyone can shake the foundations of the Imperium, I trust he can achieve it. I hold a great admiration for the man."

"Oh, I thought you didn't like each other," she said, surprised at his admission. "You two were always bickering about one thing or another. _'Tevinter'_ this, and _'elven'_ that _. 'Your clothes are terrible', 'I can't hear you; your outfit is too loud'_ , blah blah blah."

"No, they were friends," Cole muttered almost to himself. "Odd friends, but even after Dorian hit him, they still respected each other."

Lavellan's mouth dropped open. "What?" She swung her head round to stare wide-eyed at Solas. "He hit you? Why am I only just hearing about this now?"

Solas opened his mouth to reply, but only managed a throaty squawk. He shrugged, excusing the matter entirely. "We had words… I provoked him, and he landed a decent blow. We both felt better for it, I think. No need to go over it."

"When was this?" She asked, pressing on regardless of his dismissal of the issue.

"After you returned from Crestwood," Cole said, finishing one of the crowns and handing it to Solas as he started the next. He took it lamely, studying it in his hands as he turned it around and around, fidgeting aimlessly to avoid the memory.

"Oh, I see," Lavellan said, going noticeably quieter, but still trying to keep the mood jovial. "Defending my honour," she smiled sadly. "I love him even more, now. The best friend a girl could ask for."

"I thought I was your best friend," Cole muttered worriedly, afraid he was losing his honorary title.

Lavellan smiled adoringly at the spirit. "No, Cole, you're my brother. My little spirit brother, and I love you, too."

"Oh, good. That's better than a best friend," he said, taking the finished flower crown and handing it up to her. He made quick work of his chosen craft, though the final product didn't suffer for it.

"Damn right, it is," she grinned, taking it excitedly and placing it on her head, looking about like an Orlesian diplomat as she modelled the daisies.

Solas smiled at her softly, watching Lavellan primp her fair hair as a warm glow spread through him. She caught his stare and blushed, slouching as she turned her head and looked out over the drop-off, pretending her eyes were focused on something interesting in the far-off distance.

A companionable silence passed between them all as the moment they all shared was stored in Solas' memory. Remembering happier times would do well to counteract the many bleaker memories that plagued him so often. He coughed awkwardly before placing his own crown of daisies atop his hairless scalp, and though he felt silly with it on, the others seemed to enjoy his participation.

"So," Lavellan started again in hushed tones, "what am I to you, Fen'Harel?"

The use of his true name caught his full attention, and he stared down at the clasped hands in his lap, heart racing as his thoughts came back to the present. "You are _ma vhenan_ ," he confessed softly, "and that you will always be… Don't assume that circumstances between us have ever changed how I feel."

She rocked back and forth on the wall for a bit, digesting his statement carefully as she placed her hands on her knees. A flock of birds passed overhead and flew over the abyss, chirping loudly to each other as they moved in formation, flying north to the warmer countries for the coming winter.

"This begs the question of what I am to you," he uttered quietly, breaking the silence, "though I admit, I fear the answer you'll give…"

An awkward stillness filled the cooling evening air, the first cricket making itself known in the nearby brush. "It's difficult," Lavellan said carefully, "to think you are a god. And not just any god, but the one I was raised to resist at all costs should he ever try to approach my clan."

He nodded in sombre understanding, keeping his eyes fixed on Cole as the spirit fitted a wreath of daisies to go around the trim of his over-sized hat. "Perhaps you've come to realise what I meant when I said that the Dalish were not fond of me when I came to visit among them," he gently reminded her. "They are not my People, for I am no longer theirs."

"Yes, I see that, now," she sighed, defeated. "I've got to say, I feel like a fool for having bought your story so easily..."

"That was the idea, though," he reassured her softly. "Don't be too hard on yourself, _vhenan_ ; I seem to have built a reputation around my deceptions… Who could rationally suspect someone as unassuming as me of being a terrifying figure of legend?" He asked grimly.

She laughed ruefully, sighing as her shoulders slumped slightly. "Well, for one thing, I would have expected the Dread Wolf to have at least some hair, judging by the name," she joked sardonically.

"I had hair once," he smirked. "A great deal of it."

She smiled to herself. "What colour was it?"

He chuckled softly, a brief snort escaping his nose. "Brown. Like my brows," he said, turning his head to display them for her.

"Ah, I should have guessed that," she smiled sadly, reaching a tentative hand toward his face to smooth them. "Silly me..." Her fingers hovered momentarily, and thinking better of it, she lowered her hand down to her lap again, lacing her fingers together and anxiously looking away.

"I won't bite," he teased her gently. "Not unless provoked. I was a dirty fighter, in my day."

Lavellan smiled despite herself. "Your reputation precedes you, Fen'Harel."

"It does," he shook his head regretfully, "but that is the problem, isn't it?" Cole laid down on his stomach, his face close to the tall grass as he searched for small insects. He let them crawl over his fingers as he cooed softly to them, and they meandered slowly, exploring his gentle, caring hands.

She nodded, swallowing hard before sighing nervously. "I'm sorry that I'm so awkward around you, now… I guess it must be as strange for you as it is for me. I don't know what you've seen, what you've been through… I don't even know how much I've heard of you is truth or lies, but…"

He waited for her to continue, resigning himself to hear the worst. "Whatever you have to say, I can handle," he informed her. "I've more than likely heard much worse."

She breathed a laugh, slapping a hand lightly against her thigh as she turned her head to the blue sky above. "That's just it," she said, shaking her head, "I can't put it into words. With Mythal inside me, I have a strong feeling of… kinship, of friendship with you, and I can't bring myself to be mad at you, because you saved me… But there's something there that made you two argue last night. It's not clear to me. Is it bitterness? Loneliness? For the life of me, I can't name it…"

Solas shook his head forlornly. "She craves autonomy, a sense of agency. Mythal has waited too long for our time to arise, and she had no intention of sitting idly by when that day finally arrived…" His brows came together as he frowned, turning his face toward her, but he kept his eyes lowered so as not to unnerve her. "I would… appreciate it greatly if she came back to me, _lethallan_. With her ability to absorb the anchor's energy within herself, her return to me would restore everything I lost. Without her," he shrugged, shaking his head, "I'm just a man. Immortal still, but far less powerful than I once was."

"Could you still… do it without her?" She asked hesitantly, her mannerisms stiff and brimming with worry.

He arched a brow, entertaining the notion hypothetically. "I do not know," he admitted truthfully. "I took her within myself in order to gather more strength to me after the loss of my orb. I suppose it may be possible, but without her, I'm uncertain how successful I would be… It would take centuries, at least, to recover… Time this world does not have, for all the damage that would occur in that time."

"And," she winced, shifting herself to face him bodily, her eyes darting about shiftily, "if she was to remain with you, but…?"

He met her eyes sadly, waiting for her to gain the courage to meet his gaze, turning himself to her with his legs straddling the wall. When her eyes met his, he slowly shook his head. " _Vhenan_ ," he told her gently. "Please do not ask this of me again… I have given it all due consideration. Slept on it. Heard the arguments for and against the idea. I need you to realise that my primary concern is for your safety… The path I walk is fraught with unspeakable dangers, and I have already watched you die before my eyes… I could not bear to come anywhere near that nightmare, again."

She paused, her eyes glancing away as she stiffened nervously, looking from Cole to her clasped hands in rapid succession. "Ah," she choked, cocking her head to the side and rubbing her neck as she grimaced. "I had… sort of hoped you'd come around to it, by now." She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze of mounting confusion at her body language. "That makes this a bit… awkward…"

He shook his head, not grasping her meaning. Cole, sensing the shift in atmosphere, sat up and gently placed the bugs back in the tall grass where he found them before standing to pace the rubble-strewn grounds, her behaviour infecting him as well. "I'm sorry?" Solas asked guardedly, straightening his spine as his eyes narrowed. "This makes what awkward?"

"Would you like me to tell him…?" Cole offered, turning to place a hand of support on her shoulder. Solas' blood curdled in his veins, anxiety tying knots in his abdomen.

Patting his hand reassuringly, Lavellan shook her head and took a deep breath, paling slightly. "That's all right, Cole… We all agreed that he should hear this from me, right?"

"Would you two please stop being so cryptic and tell me what this is about?" He demanded, unable to stand their stalling any longer.

Breathing out heavily, she reached forward and gathered his hands in hers, a gesture meant to soothe him, yet garnering the exact opposite reaction. "Solas – Fen'Harel… I, um," she stammered, clearing her throat before continuing slowly, "something has happened, and I _promise_ you, it's for the best." Her expression didn't convey that she believed her own statement, her features bracing for his reaction.

"Mythal is not absorbing the anchor… I am absorbing Mythal into my own spirit," Lavellan blurted out finally.

For a long pause, Solas just stared at her, his ears hearing her words, but his mind unable to process what she'd said. Then he let out a small chuckle, causing the two to exchange alarmed glances before turning back to stare at him warily. "This is another one of her little jokes at my expense, isn't it?" He smiled, pulling a hand from her grasp to rub his face. "Pulling a trick on the trickster… I suppose I deserve that. Well played, Mythal." He shook his head, brows coming together as he looked back at them and finally registered their blank stares.

Then his blood ran cold.

"Fen'Harel," Lavellan leaned forward, looking up to meet his horrified eyes, "hear me out… We thought about this for a good long while. Mythal belongs with me… I will have her strength, her memory, her immortality, the knowledge of her high priests… She is giving herself to me…" She patted his hand gently in her grasp. "The process has already begun. There's nothing you can do."

He shook his head lamely, flooded immediately with denial. "I never woke up," he stated hopefully, the colour draining from his face. "This is all a dream; some powerful spirit has me under its command… Surely this can't be reality."

She sighed, looking up at Cole for feedback. "His mind is screaming," Cole confirmed. "He listens, but he cannot hear her. _Breaking, buckling, back against the wall. Cornered like a bruised and beaten animal._ Be careful… Wolves always fight back when their territory is threatened."

Solas stood suddenly, swinging his leg over the crumbled wall to pace within the former interior of the ruin. His mind reeled and he felt sickened, nauseous at the thought of losing her again. If she was absorbed into Lavellan's spirit, Mythal would be gone forever this time. Her stamp would be upon the elven woman, only the bare bones of her essence remaining. She hadn't even dared do such a thing within Flemeth, they two remaining always as separate entities. Why would she consider doing that now, of all the ill-conceived times? Was she that set against coming back to him? Mythal was going to die, and he would lose her for all eternity.

The elven woman perched upon the stone wall sighed anxiously, unsettled at his lack of response. To fill the void, she continued to ease him gently, intending to persuade him. "This was the way it was always meant to be," she tried to reach him through his racing thoughts. "Even my _vallaslin_ honoured Mythal… It may be gone now, but I can continue to honour her in this way."

Pacing with renewed vigour, he scoffed incredulously, outrage surpassing his distress. "Are you listening to yourself? How could you be so selfish – _both_ of you?!"

She stammered, eyes rounding at his words. "S-Selfish?" Her face flushed hot, indignant at the accusation. "You're the one who refuses to share power. I'd call that selfish, wouldn't you?"

"Solas is not doing this for power," Cole interrupted, surprising them both. "He doesn't want to be right; he just wants to save them."

"Well said, Cole," he nodded firmly, thoroughly pleased at having been vindicated.

"No, Solas," he robbed the man of his smugness instantly. "Lavellan's not trying to take Mythal into herself to punish you… She saved everyone from your mistake once, already; she just wants to help make sure it doesn't happen again."

Turning away, Solas walked to the edge of the cliff side, staring down into the valley below. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe, heart hammering in his ears. _I shouldn't have come back_ , he scolded himself angrily. This was what happened when people got to know one another; Lavellan was not an anonymous face he could easily sidestep to reach his goals. "'Attachments get in the way'," he quoted his younger self quietly.

Cole had come to stand directly behind his right shoulder, and Solas jumped internally as his thoughts were interrupted by the spirit. "Mythal knows you are sad, and she can't make it better with Flemeth gone. You wear a face to hide your face so no one will see you. You think it's better that way, but it's not. _Haunted and hunted, he hides, biding his time, long years marked in solitude, seeking spirits to salve his silent suffering_. She's never known you to love before, and she doesn't want you to give it up… not if she can help it."

Bitter tears stung him, but he refused to let them flow, turning his rage outward instead. "So that's what it all comes down to, then?" He rasped, ripping the flower crown from his head and stalking back over to Lavellan, throwing it on her lap. "She wishes to play the matchmaker, does she? I suppose you have some rosy picture in your mind of some contrived happily-ever-after! And _that's_ meant to make me feel better about losing her? This is not some fanciful tale, Lavellan! How _dare_ you stake claim of Mythal at a time like this for such trivial nonsense!"

Lavellan glared, standing up to get right in his face as she countered heatedly, "This isn't about us – not for me! I have a vested interest in the future of this world – the one I just saved from the brink of annihilation, remember?! You're not the only one who lost your People to your cause! If you think I'm going to let you disappear yet again and reverse all my hard work, you've got another think coming, Fen'Harel!" She laughed bitterly, "I am _well_ aware of the fact that you don't want me, anymore, but I'm mature enough to maintain a professional relationship, if you are."

"So now you stoop to baiting me with guilt trips," he sneered, growling from deep down in his chest. " _Fenedhis_ , if you're not the most frustrating woman I've ever met! You do not give up, do you?"

She crossed her arms defensively. "About as often as you do," Lavellan retorted with a sneer. "You put me in this situation to begin with; I'm just trying to make the best of it."

Fed up to his pointed ears, he threw his hands up and walked a few paces away before rounding on her yet again, a finger raised in warning. " _Dirthara ma, asha!_ Do not provoke me. You have no idea of what you ask!"

"Yes, I do. I'm not the fool you take me for."

"Despite all evidence to the contrary?!"

Cole interrupted once again, placing himself between them. It was plain for all to see that their leisurely afternoon stroll had quickly turned sour. "She wants to _help_ you, Solas… Please, listen to her."

"Stay out of this, Cole!" Solas had snapped viciously, causing the spirit to jump back a step apprehensively. If his eyes could turn red from his unbridled anger, they would have done so right then and there. "I'm positive you had a hand in this ploy to undermine me!"

"Don't you take that tone with him," Lavellan stepped forward, clutching Cole's arm protectively. "You may be old, but you still have a lot of growing up to do. You need to humble your pride and tap into some of that wisdom you claim to have."

Taking in a lungful of air, he let it out slowly, closing his eyes. The sun was beginning to set, the daylight decreasing drastically from when they'd first set out from the cave. Whenever the process had started, it would soon be completed… unless he intervened.

"There is still time left," he said, forcing calmness into his voice as he spoke. " _Please_ , _da'len_ , return her to me before it's too late."

Lavellan shook her head hopelessly, her green eyes pleading for understanding. "She won't come out. This was a joint decision, and what's done is done… Learn to make peace with this…"

He refused to let the matter die, now overwhelmed by desperation. "So help me, I will take her from you, myself!"

She closed her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose, completely exasperated with him. "I can't get through to you. Your attitude is unbelievably tedious."

He shot her a disapproving glare, the rope of his patience fraying and hanging by a mere thread. "I could say the same of you. This is your last chance; I _beseech_ you to take it."

Crossing her arms, she stepped before Cole, brows raised defiantly as her lips pressed to a fine line. Her body language spoke volumes.

So it was settled, then. No more talk; action was what the situation clearly called for. He would lose the anchor, but at least he would reclaim Mythal.

"Cole, I need you to step away, please."

The spirit's eyes widened under the shaggy blond hair, his body paralysed with indecision. "What are you going to do?"

The final thread gave way. " _Leave us!_ "

He read Solas' dark thoughts plainly, and panic flooded his voice as he repeatedly shook his head. "No, you can't hurt her! I won't let you!"

Lavellan shot a glance between the two of them and shifted her weight on her hip, smirking in amusement. "As if he would ever raise his hand to me," she rolled her eyes disbelievingly.

Straightening to his full height, he made his own intentions quite clear. "Is that a challenge?"

Her mouth dropped open slowly as she realised his seriousness, and she scoffed, her eyes travelling over his body and detecting the open threat therein. "…Have you lost your damned mind?! If it'll make you feel better, then let's have at it! You want her back so badly, _harellan_? You'll have to take her from me, if you can!"

"What are you doing?" Cole grabbed her arm desperately, trying in earnest to prevent the inevitable. "You only just got better! You can't – "

Solas closed his eyes, touching his forehead and calling forth mana to fuel a powerful blast that forced Cole off his feet and sent him flying backwards, careening through the air until he collided with the stone block that laid at the foundations of the former archway. The spirit grunted in surprise, sliding to the ground in a pitiful slump as he cradled his arm in shock.

With a cry of outrage, Lavellan shoved him hard, fire in her eyes as she gripped his collar, her breath brushing against his face. "Lay another hand on him and you'll be _dead_ before you hit the ground! This is between you and me!"

He brought his hands up and gripped her wrists, pushing her back with surprising violence. "Then so be it."

Their eyes flashed with instant decision, and in unison, the _hahren_ and his _da'len_ pulled the staves from their backs, crouching in a position of battle. For a moment, they studied one another, waiting for the other to make the first move. Plumes of frost draped from the ice crystal tied to the end of Solas' staff, and Lavellan's fire rune glowed hot at the tip of hers, embers floating into the evening air as it burned in silent anticipation. He threw an arm about him, casting himself in a glistening barrier, his sudden movement setting her on alert as she stepped back quickly.

Smirking, he narrowed his eyes and stepped cautiously to his right. Following suit, Lavellan stepped in turn, the tension of their counter-clockwise dance palpable. They circled one another on the ruin grounds, refusing to turn their backs for even the shadow of a second. Hearts hammering in unison, they kept their eyes trained, searching for any subtle movement that would indicate the point of no return.

"My Heart," Solas grinned maliciously, his hands away from his sides as he reached out with his mind, pulling power from the Veil to fuel his magic, "once I start this, I am not going to be gentle about it, and I make no apologies for it." Her eyes narrowed further, and he took deep satisfaction from her obvious recognition of his words, first whispered with trembling urgency on a riverbank under the moon.

"Solas," Lavellan replied, an edge in her voice as she paused in her steps, preparing to strike, "stop talking."

She took a step toward him, then raced forward in a blur of motion, her magic carrying her at an incredible speed as she passed through him, frost forming on the ground in her wake. His barrier protected him against the chill that ought to have frozen him to the core, and he dropped to a knee and pivoted round, thrusting his staff out before him and unleashing a volley of ice and snow in her direction. As she quite literally returned fire, he called on the strength of spirits pressing against the Veil, increasing the fortitude of his barriers as she continued her fiery assault. Shielding herself in a glistening armour of ice, Lavellan protected herself against the brunt of the damage he dealt in turn.

Solas took a menacing step toward her, but she planted an ice mine at his feet, his bare toes mere centimetres from the glyph that would have frozen him solid. Instead, he rolled out of harm's way, balls of flame surging past him through the air as he dodged them effortlessly. He raised his hands, reaching through the Fade to bring forth a boulder, and sent it straight for Lavellan. It smashed against her armour of ice, which exploded on impact as she was flung back, sending shrapnel in his direction and freezing him in place with its winter chill.

Encased in glacial ice, he watched as Lavellan grunted, reaching to reclaim her staff on the ground before rising. As luck would have it, as soon as she was on her feet again, her frigid spell wore off and he was once more free to move about the arena. With the wave of a hand, he created a small rift in the Veil just above him, and Lavellan cried out in shock as she was pulled against her will straight toward him.

Trapped in tight proximity due to the riptide of the screaming rift, they sparred with their staves, thrusting and parrying as though they fought with greatswords, with all the force their arms could deliver. He gained the upper hand through his superior strength, pressing Lavellan down with his staff crossed against hers, beads of sweat sprouting on her hairline as she pushed back. With a grunt of effort, she forced him off with all her might in a surge of adrenaline, the rift slamming shut above their heads. Solas stepped back a pace, blocking and parrying as she aimed her staff straight for his head. In a rage, he brought his staff low to the ground and arched it upward with such force that it sent her weapon tumbling through the air, landing uselessly out of her reach. He used the blunt end to jab her forcefully in the stomach, eliciting from her a breathless _oof!_ and stunning her for a second.

He seized the opportune moment to cast his own staff to the side, lowering his head and charging her. The impact sent a vibration through them both, and he picked her up over his shoulder, swiftly walking the few paces to one of the nearby chiselled boulders still left standing. He threw her back against the cold stone, his hands pressed firmly to the wall on either side of her to allow her a moment to breathe. Gripping his shoulders in defiance, her fingernails stabbed down on his flesh as she held him away, raking into his flesh.

"Well, this is familiar," he chuckled despite himself, panting breathlessly. "I am impressed by your determination! I'll give you one last opportunity to change your mind, _da'len_. It only gets worse from – "

Lavellan slapped him hard, catching him off-guard, dragging her nails viciously across his cheek as she did so. His face turned away, he felt droplets of blood trickle down his face from the wound, and he sneered, baring his teeth like a feral beast as he growled in anger. "Do not mock me," she rasped in his ear. "I'm just getting started."

Solas grinned deviously, turning to face her before he grabbed her in a flash of sudden movement, picking her up bodily and slamming her to the ground at his feet. Lavellan tried to gasp, the wind having been knocked out of her, but she lay stunned. He dropped to his knees, intending to pin her there and discuss the terms of her surrender.

Apparently this was all a ruse to lull him into a false sense of victory, for Lavellan kicked her leg high and crashed it against his shoulder, upsetting his balance. She placed her arms about his neck and threw her weight, rolling him beneath her. Grabbing his wrists tightly, she pinned them to the ground on either side of him. Solas strained to reach his forehead with his fingertips, but she sensed his attempt to blast her back with the power of his mind, spreading his arms wider, which forced her to lean closer.

" _Dirth ma, harellan_ ," she recited with a wink, " _ma banal Enasalin. Mar solas ene mar din_."

Glaring angrily at the words she echoed from the nightmare demon, he brought his knees up, forcing her forward to align her head directly with his own. " _Banal nadas_ ," he replied defiantly before slamming his forehead against her nose in a crushing blow. He winced at her pained cry of outrage as she fumbled and keeled over, landing with a thud on the ground at his side, holding her face as blood seeped through her fingers.

He rolled quickly, leaning over her and gripping her by the hair, forcing her chin up to expose her throat, the blood pouring from her nostrils. "It's unfortunate that it had to come this far," he smiled regretfully as he fought to catch his breath. "I did not wish to fight you in this way. Even one on one, the odds were stacked against you." Affronted, Lavellan sputtered and coughed a garbled retort, and he forced her head to turn on its side so she would not choke on her own blood."I told you I was a dirty fighter in my day, didn't I?"

"I guess old dogs really can't learn new tricks," Lavellan wheezed nasally, struggling to throw him off by kicking toward him uselessly as she faced him again. She hacked and spat a glob of bloodied spit into his face, and he turned his head to calmly wipe it away on his sleeve, refusing to release her from his grasp. "They always revert back to what they truly are when they're not strong enough to fight fair!"

"You think so?" He rasped dangerously, a knowing glint in his eye. "I suspect you are correct, _da'len_ , as usual. You always were an insightful woman, despite being Dalish. Let's put your theory to the test." Solas released her and stood up. She rolled slowly on the ground in pain as he backed away, chuckling to himself as he turned and walked nonchalantly to the centre of the ruin before casting his glance upward at the evening sky, the first stars fading into view in the dimming light of dusk.

He caught Cole in his peripheral vision, appearing from seemingly nowhere in a puff of black smoke at Lavellan's side. The spirit had wisely kept his distance until now and, wrongly assuming the battle was over, had raced to attend to his friend, his hands exploring her for wounds. He heard the crunch of the setting of her nose as she yelped, and she sat up, hurriedly reassuring the spirit that she was fine as she pushed him away, though it was apparent that she was not. She argued with Cole for a time, urging him to stay back, and he all but refused to listen to her, having had just about enough of watching the two people he most cared for in this world at each other's throats.

"Would you like to see some of these old 'tricks' in action, _da'len_ ," he shouted disdainfully, obtaining their full attention, "or has compassion got the better of you?" He spread his arms wide in challenge, inviting her to try her luck again.

Riled, she stood up shakily, wiping her blood on her black sleeve. Cole grasped her arm to try to stop her, desperately shaking his head, but she shrugged him off definitively. He slumped helplessly on the sidelines once again as Lavellan stalked toward Solas. "You really are the stuff of nightmares, Dread Wolf," she bit snidely.

He grinned madly, laughing her off as he let the insult roll off his back harmlessly. "The stuff of nightmares? Ah, yes, that much is true… At least yours."

His eyes lit up, bright blue slits billowing up like smoke and flame. Raising his arms in the air, he spun his hands and quietly recited an Elvish incantation to call forth magical forces previously unseen in the air, weaving sparks and clouds of shimmering mist until it built on itself. Once the magic was primed and ready, he stepped forward and threw his arms out wide, lowering his head as the cloud fell upon him, casting his ancient spell. Solas was enveloped in a beam of white light, the intensity blinding Lavellan momentarily as she stumbled back, shielding her face.

When her eyes reopened seconds later, she screamed.

Before her disbelieving eyes stood the terrifying legend of old, the Great Wolf, easily as high as the boughs of the trees themselves. The six glowing red eyes narrowed to slits, his rumbling growl vibrating through her paralysed body. He barked and snapped at her with his bared fangs, hunched low enough to reach her, and though he saw her eyes widen with horror, she stood her ground, refusing to let her fear overtake her.

His tail waved high in confidence, the Dread Wolf stalked toward his prey one giant paw at a time, his many eyes trained on her as she stumbled backward out of the way. Though she gave ground, that was all she dared give him as she shouted curses his way.

" _Bunny_ ," Cole yelled frantically before reappearing in a cloud of smoke at her side. " _Run!_ "

"No," she shouted back to be heard over the threatening, guttural growls of the hulking mass of black fur. "You can't run from wolves! That's what they _want_ you to do, so they can drag you down for the kill!"

She stood before the Great Wolf, her own eyes suddenly swirling with mounting spiritual energy, and after a moment, she laughed maniacally. "Stand back, Cole," she grinned insanely. "Mythal's just taught me a trick of her own!"

With a roaring battle cry, Lavellan threw her arms high as a powerful wind swept the dust from the ruins, raising her off the ground as her hair and robe whipped around her. She threw her head back and cast a spell equal in power to his own, her body bursting with light bright as the sun, and the Great Wolf leaned back on his rear haunches to give way to her transformation.

With a shrill cry that cut the air and shattered the night, she beat her wings and took flight, soaring north over the valley to the other side of the forest and letting her deafening cry ring through the sky.

Dazzled and amazed, the Dread Wolf raised his black snout to the moon and let out a piercing howl of glee. _This_ was a challenge worthy of him. He couldn't tell whether she was feeling the same, but he was thoroughly enjoying himself, the thrill of battle in this form something Fen'Harel hadn't indulged in since before _Elvhenan_ was lost.

Cole scrambled to get out of the way as the High Dragon made her way back, his friends now no more than monsters that could crush him underfoot effortlessly. The spirit could do nothing but watch helplessly under the shelter of the trees; hopefully Cole was wise enough to stay there.

Balls of dry ice split the air and smashed into the ground around the Dread Wolf, sending debris everywhere, but he didn't flinch, all but daring her to take actual aim at him. Instead, she turned in mid-air and flew directly toward him, her razor sharp teeth bared as her mighty talons shook the ground upon landing. Not hesitating, he lunged at her elongated throat, his teeth sinking down yet unable to pierce through her scales, hard as steel in his mouth. She screeched in annoyance and arched her head, curved horns stabbing through his dark coat and brushing threateningly against his thick skin. He released her quickly, darting behind her and just missing the swoosh of her whipping tail as it cut the air sharply.

Turning toward the Dread Wolf, the High Dragon beat her wings hard, attempting to pull him toward her with the gusts of wind she created. It had no effect on him, and he stood with his front paws spread and his head lowered, bristling as he raised his tail high, assured now that he could take her. She clawed the ground, wrecking the remainder of the ruin wall as if it were made of toy blocks, and then her high-pitched roar tore through the air yet again. _Show-off_.

Simultaneously, the two great beasts charged and butted heads before sinking their teeth into one another's flanks, rolling on the grounds as they clawed violently and snapped their jaws. The Dread Wolf was a quicker, craftier fighter than the slow, lumbering High Dragon, but she landed far more devastating blows than he with her powerful muscles, alone. Nevertheless, mass and strength were not necessarily better than fast and agile movement. His claws raked her soft underbelly as rapidly as if he were digging through soil for a buried leftover, and she reeled back, dancing away as she slumped slightly from her injuries.

Taking advantage of her weakened state, he lunged at her again, his paws upon her back as he sunk his fangs into her flesh and threw his head viciously to tear a chunk of her away. Screeching in alarm, she turned her great head and clenched her jaws down like a clamp upon his tail _. Not the tail_ , he howled in pain.

Yelping and whimpering, he backed off, but she didn't release him. He clawed the ground desperately as she dragged him across the rocky grounds toward the edge. If she flew off with him like this and dangled him over the valley, he was going to throttle her when they were done here. He turned his snout, baring his teeth and biting her powerful hind leg, deciding not to release her until she let him go in kind.

It worked, and he leaped in the air, landing on her back with a thunderous boom and sinking his teeth into her throat in earnest this time. She attempted to throw him, but he had her now and he was not going to let go. The Dread Wolf held firm as she bucked and roared, and eventually her hind legs buckled as she sat with a shake that rolled the forest floor. Dragging his prey down, he held her to the ground until she ceased in her struggling.

In another bright flash, she disappeared from his jaws, falling to the ground in a heap next to his paw. It was over. His keen nose could smell his victory, and he closed his eyes and ended the spell. The two of them elven again, they lay gasping for air, waiting for a moment's respite and trying to clear their minds of adrenaline and blood lust.

But he had won this glorious battle, and now it was time to claim the spoils of his sweet victory.

He rolled toward the woman lying on her side so they could face one another in the twilight. "Do you recall that… night in the Fade," Solas panted, grimacing as he leaned himself up to hold her still, "when I told you that you need not… be frightened that the Dread Wolf... was going to come to you in the night?"

"And steal my soul…" Lavellan attempted to nod, a small tear forming at the corner of her eye and dripping over her nose, encrusted in dried blood.

"Yes, that's the one," he sighed, catching his breath. "Well, I'm afraid I must have misspoken, _vhenan_ … I'm terribly sorry for this." His face blurred suddenly, obscured by an ancient magic that swirled over him and called out to Mythal, coaxing her with spirit-like fingers to rise out of the defeated woman on the ground.

Her eyes flashed, a fierce lightning storm smoking from the sockets, and though he pressed and urged with all the mana within him, the spirit would not come forth. Solas shook with the effort and felt his power drain rapidly from him, his arms collapsing weakly and sending him sprawling on his back.

Lavellan tried to chuckle through a wet cough, but it was choked off, and she spat another glob of blood on the grass as she leaned up on an elbow, breathing through her mouth to avoid the sting of her broken nose. "Something wrong, Fen'Harel?" She asked weakly, shaking like a leaf as she pushed herself up to sit with her legs tucked under her.

He shook his head slightly, unable to properly move or respond, utterly drained of all his power. "I can't… How did…" He couldn't form words, confusion and weakness obscuring his thoughts.

Her eyes flashed blue, the spirit within her taking control momentarily. "While I have you incapacitated, my child, I feel I should interject with a final word to you," she said plainly.

" _Mythal_ ," Solas grunted, his eyes brimming with sorrow as he found his voice again. "Please do not leave me again... Don't do this to me! I fought so hard for you…"

She shook her head slowly in pity. "I am not leaving you, dear boy… I will always be with you. I will go on, even after I am gone from here. It is as it has been, many times before… Do not grieve for me any longer, Dread Wolf; you've already shed too many tears on my behalf over the Ages… Do you hear me?"

His face contorting in grief, Solas breathed deeply and fought to recompose himself, straightening his features and nodding a quiet affirmation.

"There's a good lad," Mythal smiled. "I regret we did not have more time together. It seems even for us, life is fleeting… As much as I am enthralled by this lover's quarrel, I will be blending with this woman, shortly… And you will have your _vhenan_ restored to you permanently, Dread Wolf."

"I can't bear it," he breathed raggedly, trying to lift his arms and prop himself up on his elbows. After finally succeeding in this, Solas pleaded, "Must you saddle me with yet more guilt? I cannot bring myself to watch her share my fate! She did nothing to deserve this… And for you to _sacrifice_ yourself, just to bring me some semblance of happiness…" He shut his eyes tightly, shaking his head in unbearable shame as he choked on a sob. "I can't… I cannot _bear_ it, Mythal, _please_ … You _have_ to make her see the truth in what I say. Come back to me!"

"So you would rather suffer alone?" She asked earnestly.

" _Yes_ ," he groaned in frustration. " _Fenedhis_ , yes! Finally, someone hears me! I would not wish this fate upon my worst enemy, least of all my own Heart!"

Mythal looked down on him sadly, reaching a hand out to stroke his tender, wounded cheek. "How much of your bitter loneliness is self-inflicted, child? To what lengths will you go to forever wander alone? Would you spend the rest of eternity in solitude and regret if I let you decide your own fate? She is your _equal_ , Fen'Harel, I see that now… I have spent quite some time living in the wilds, and do you know what I observed there?"

He sat waiting solemnly for her to continue, his spirit sinking ever lower as the seconds passed by, knowing that soon she would no longer be with him to offer this sort of counsel again. He resisted the compulsion to shed tears with difficulty. Whatever she needed to say to him before the end, he would treasure her advice, resolving to honour it wholly.

Her eyes shone brightly with calming light as she spoke softly, "The wolves in the wilds that hunt alone are less likely to bring down large prey… They are lonely creatures who cope with life by snapping at any who approach them, even if it would help… But an alpha-wolf who bides his time, directs his pack, and leads the hunt, why, he can bring down the greatest beasts in all the wilderness… Be the _alpha_ , Dread Wolf… You know the way through the darkest forests, and with her to warm your fur at night, you will have a better chance at reclaiming our territory…" Mythal smiled softly, patting his knee. "Do I make myself clear, child…?"

His spirit broke. Forcing himself to his knees, he moved toward her and wrapped her in a tight embrace, burying his face in her hair to hide his tears. " _Ma nuvenin_ ," Solas whispered as he hugged her tightly, unable to bring himself to say more to her through his trembling voice.

She patted his back gently. " _Melana en athim las enaste_ ," she bade him. "Now let humility grant favour, Fen'Harel… Look to the skies," she whispered quietly, a smile on her voice. "There you will find me always…"

And with that, he gripped Mythal tightly as she fell silent for the last time.

Against her parting wishes, Solas wept in the arms of his Heart, and she quietly held him without judgement as he mourned for what felt like all eternity.


	20. Chapter 20

She lay on the grounds of the northernmost elven ruin in the Emerald Graves, looking up at the glittering constellations above with new eyes, listening to the soothing night song with new ears, as if experiencing it all for the first time in her life. The sky seemed to go on into eternity, an expanse above that felt so vast that she could scarcely believe she wasn't falling into it. It was the same sort of feeling she assumed dwarves felt upon emerging from their underground thaigs and viewing the surface world. Like them, she was witnessing a strange new world open itself to her, one that changed her in every way imaginable, yet preserved her just as she was, unlocking possibilities that she had never conceived before.

His head rested on her chest, having gone silent long since, listening intently to the rhythm of her heart beating gently within her, her lungs expanding and deflating slowly, all of it a bittersweet melody that flooded him with both unspeakable gratitude and insurmountable guilt. The elven man had lost and gained everything in such a brief window of time, and the effect it had on his emotions was palpable to her. Before, Solas had been closeted with his feelings, only loosening the bonds he placed upon himself in the most private of moments shared between them, even then not allowing everything within him to make itself known for what were now obvious reasons. Now, it was as though a dam had broken, every thought and feeling flowing from him wordlessly with an intensity that swept her away on a current that could knock a lesser woman down and drown her if she fought against the tide. Instead, Lavellan let herself immerse in it all, floating on a torrent of emotions flooding the very core of her spirit.

"How… do you feel?"

His words cut through her thoughts like a blunt table knife, her mind not present enough in the moment to answer him immediately, nor register at first that he'd even spoken. It wasn't until Solas leaned up on his elbow to check whether Lavellan was indeed awake that she joined him in the present. His eyes seemed a deeper blue than they had ever been before, like that of the waters of the open sea… Was her vision heightened as well? Everything felt new to her, yet simultaneously ancient and everlasting.

"Different," she replied quietly after noticing she hadn't said anything aloud yet, searching for the words to describe the sensations her body and mind were experiencing. "But not in a bad way… I feel older – no, younger… I don't really know, actually, just… very different…" Her voice sounded slower to her ears, and the world around her felt as though it was running at less than half the speed it ought to be.

His hand moved to grasp her upper arm tentatively, eyes travelling over her still body. She wondered if Solas could perceive a marked change in her at all. Did her appearance alter in any way, or was she emanating a vibration he could sense in the air about her? If she did, he did not indicate as such, instead shaking his head slowly as he once again met her glossy, moss-green eyes.

"To come back from death only to become immortal in less than a day…" His face etched with sorrow unexpectedly as his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, but he fought against it, setting his features blank and unreadable to mask his inner pain, though there was nothing he could do to prevent her sensing the melancholy emanating from his spirit. "I cannot imagine what it is to experience the change you are, having always been as I am… It's little wonder you struggle to describe it."

Lavellan was compelled to question him on how he was managing to deal with his new reality, but it was clear that he didn't quite know, himself. Judging by the way he masked his obvious anguish from her moments ago, he appeared to be under the impression that he should shelter her from his thoughts, likely believing she had enough with which to occupy herself. Instead, she sat up tentatively, leaning over him before he could move to rise as well.

Solas looked up at her with a flash of alarm before it vanished suddenly behind the curtain of his eyes, but that tiny glimpse was enough for her to see the true state of his mind: he was apprehensive of her, a wounded animal caught in a trap, unsure of what she would do with him. It seemed he certainly expected something in the way of retribution for his actions. At this point, Lavellan was undeniably more powerful than him, and he knew it well. After all, she could do anything with what she'd been granted…

"It's alright," Solas uttered in total surrender, shocking her. He cleared his throat as softly as he could manage, his tone dry and self-deprecating. "You've won, _lethallan_. I submit to your will… I have one request, though: in future, when faced with a dilemma that could shake the foundations of the world, ask yourself, 'What would the Dread Wolf do?' …Then, when you have your answer, do the opposite." He half-smiled at her, having apparently accepted a fate spent in exile and seclusion, if allowed to live at all. Even though Mythal had been absorbed into her spirit for his own benefit, he was giving Lavellan a clear opening to leave him forever if she so desired it, letting her know in so many words that he expected the bleakest outcome imaginable, and was preparing himself for the worst.

But there was no choice for her, not truly. Lavellan's mind had made itself up long before she thought about a course of action, herself. Slowly, she bent toward him, and as the flash of wary apprehension returned, she locked her eyes on his, urging him to trust in her. He picked up on it in the span of a heartbeat and froze in place with wide eyes as he waited for her next move. With a deep breath, she leaned down and closed her eyes as she kissed him tenderly in the midnight breeze.

She felt the bolt go through Solas at her gentle touch. When after a time Lavellan released him, she waited patiently for him to breathe again, watching with an expression that conveyed all the forgiveness she had for him. She smiled reassuringly, brushing the back of her hand against his pronounced cheekbone.

His mouth agape, the man struggled for words, his mind unable to comprehend her wordless decision immediately. Solas swallowed around the hard lump in his throat and sat up hesitantly, his hands trembling as they raised from the ground to lightly grip her shoulders. " _Why…?_ " He breathed finally, his red-rimmed eyes brimming with bafflement.

It bordered on comical to her that he would have even for a moment believed that she could have done otherwise. She had to look away for a long moment, focusing instead on the _vallasdahlen_ swaying in the breeze, the rustle of the leaves like sand in a glass bottle. She felt the water well beneath the surface and attempted to push it back down, but one solitary tear escaped her walls, trailing down her face to betray the depth of her feelings for him. "Just because I can go on without you," she told him gently, "doesn't mean I want to."

After a long pause to be certain he'd heard her correctly, he released the breath he had been holding unevenly, choking on a heartbreaking laugh of joy. Solas pulled Lavellan to him in an enveloping embrace in an instant and kissed her possessively, as though she might think better of her choice at any given moment. Even though he could barely believe it himself, she was here to stay by his side. The realisation filled them both with bliss as they lost themselves to one another.

Suddenly a sharp pain jabbed her face as he turned his head and leaned in hard, and she bit his tongue accidentally in reflex, pulling away and covering her hands over her nose as it began to seep with fresh crimson blood. "Ouch," she winced nasally, embarrassed that she'd blundered their passionate moment. "Sorry…"

He chuckled, snorting softly as he held her face in his hands, his brow furrowing as he studied her injury. "You've no need to apologise, _vhenan_. I'm the one who did this to you," he shook his head. Readjusting himself to sit nearer to her, Solas stroked his thumb against her jawline. "Here," he whispered gently, "let me…"

He held his hands over her face, a light blue aura glimmering over her as he slowly repaired the damage he had done during their impromptu battle. The magic was cool and refreshing, a tingling sensation on her skin as she felt cartilage realign and seal with his healing spell. After a long moment, she could breathe unhindered again, and opened her eyes once more to stare at him, smiling her thanks briefly in the moonlight.

"There," he smiled back, running his forefinger along her nose before kissing the tip, "that's one thing I've broken that I can now say I've repaired."

They chuckled together at his jest, but as the conversation fizzled and died away, the grim reality of their situation slowly crept back to the forefront of their minds. Lavellan watched as the smile on his face turned downward once more, and saw the indecisiveness there as he could think of nothing more to say, unable to make up his mind about what to do with his hands. He was beginning to pull away once more, reverting back to his old, ingrained habit of maintaining distance with her.

With a small clearing of her throat, she wrapped her arms around his back and rested her head on his shoulder. "We'll stay like this until you don't feel like running, anymore… All right?"

Hesitating momentarily, he eventually returned the embrace and, after a slight pause for consideration, placed a tentative kiss atop her head. "All right," he agreed after a slow nod, content to remain close until things weren't as strange between them.

A question clearly on his mind, he stopped and started a few times, the words in his throat falling away with every slight intake of breath he took. "What is it?" She whispered so low that he could only hear her through the vibration in his chest.

Reluctantly, he finally gave voice to his troubled thoughts. "Can you… feel Mythal? Within you somewhere, I mean… Is she present even still, or is she truly…?"

After a pause, she shook her head, turning to look him fully in the face. "Yes and no… I feel something changed about me, something old and powerful, but… it's not separate from me at all. It's part of my being, of who I am, now." She closed her eyes, turning her head downward toward the wolf bone laying over his chest. "But that's not what you're asking," she recognised sadly in understanding. "I'm afraid she's not here… not in that sense, anymore…"

The bobbing in his neck returned as he placed his forehead gently against hers, letting out a resigned sigh. "So she has died, then," he muttered bleakly.

After a moment of consideration, she shook her head almost imperceptibly, trying to find a way to convey the reality of her state of being. "Not 'died'," she discarded the word, searching for another as her brows drew together. "Maybe it's better to say… reborn."

It was a game of semantics, really, and she knew it. Mythal no longer existed as a separate entity in her body, and therefore was dead, but he nevertheless appreciated her attempt to soften the blow. "Hmm," he muttered solemnly. "At least you are still you… That is a great comfort."

"I know this wasn't what you wanted," her voice trembled with sympathy, "and I hope you can forgive me for what's happened." He cast his eyes downward at her words, but nevertheless, she continued, " _Ir abelas, hahren…_ I know that she was your dearest friend, and to have her taken from you, knowing that it was my fault -"

" _Hamin, da'len_ ," Solas stopped her with a finger to her lips. "I brought about these events, ultimately… You are not to blame for anything that has happened. I must endure, knowing I have led you to dangerous paths, willingly or not… And that being so, your safety is my responsibility to ensure."

"No, _you_ listen," Lavellan straightened herself, running her thumb along his pointed ear for emphasis. "We will watch over _each other_ from now on. I'm not a _len_ you can't take your eyes from for fear that I might stumble into the fire, and I'm not about to become just another burden for you. I'm here for _you_ , Solas... We're in this together," she reassured him softly.

Sullenly, he nodded his acceptance. "Forgive me," he uttered, a strange new sensation filling him, as well. "I'm not familiar with relying on others, and it might take some time to overcome."

She smiled faintly at that. "Take all the time you need," she embraced him, giving him her support. "You don't have to go it alone, anymore – you have _my_ word on that. We're partners, after all."

The breeze flowed gently over them, the light smells of flowering night blossoms in the air. Leaves rustled and danced in the light wind, like a tide receding back in a rush to the sea whence it came. For a long moment, they sat huddled together on the ground, seeking comfort from one another as they both tried to accept the reality they now faced.

"I suppose she will not have her revenge, after all," he said quietly as the thought struck him anew, causing him to sigh with regret.

"For her murder?" Lavellan's brow furrowed, remembering Flemeth's speech when she'd first encountered her with Morrigan in the crossroads beyond the Eluvian. Suddenly, she saw something unexpected, a brief flash of a memory not her own, of standing before the ancient _elvhen_ artefact as it reacted to her touch. Then she had ended her strange spell, turning to see Solas walking toward her, slumped and defeated. "Oh," Lavellan smiled to herself, shaking her head.

"Oh?" he repeated, making her glance up to meet his befuddled stare.

It had been a sliver of information Mythal had kept from him, and though to tell him would reveal the deception, Lavellan felt compelled to divulge it. For all she knew, it might spare him further sorrow. "Do you want to know a secret?"

Solas considered her for a moment, then nodded briefly in response. "You know all of mine, by now; I suppose it's only fair I hear one of yours."

"No, it's not mine – well, it is now, I guess; it was one of Mythal's. I'm not sure I understand it, but it could be important to you."

His head tilted to one side as he studied her with marked interest. "You've piqued my curiosity, _lethallan_. I'm not Dirthamen, but I do still enjoy uncovering knowledge that was kept from me… Go on," he encouraged her with a sad smile.

She hesitated for a small span of time, wondering how best to describe the memory so it would be readily understood. "When you met with Mythal in the Crossroads before you…" Lavellan paused when he stiffened noticeably at mention of the encounter, clearly surprised that she was privy to the memories he shared with Mythal. He let out a breath through pursed lips, and relaxed again almost as quickly, likely understanding that she would of course be aware of such things now.

Then a thought occurred to her. "Oh, is that why you left after we defeated Corypheus? To locate Mythal and… report back to her about the orb?"

He glanced off to the side, looking slightly uncomfortable as he cleared the nonexistent obstruction in his throat. "That's… Well. I'll need to grow accustomed to you knowing more than I have informed you. In any case, that was not the secret you planned to reveal, was it? If so, I'm already well aware of… that."

Flustered, she started again. "I got side-tracked, I'm sorry. Anyway, she passed something through the Eluvian before you approached her, some kind of… spell – a mist, really, but I'm not sure I really understand exactly what it was."

At her words, Solas went utterly still, his eyes darting back and forth as his mind worked to sort the answer out for himself. When he had it, his face lit up and he let out a chuckle that startled her.

"What's so funny?" She asked him, shaking her head in confusion.

He rubbed his hands over his face to clear his laughter and groaned softly as he leaned back, laying against the gravel-strewn grounds, an arm crossed pillow-like beneath his head. "I didn't make much of it at the time – there were other things pressing on my mind, obviously – but it makes sense that she would take the precaution. No wonder she so easily decided to merge with you when she'd done no such thing before… Oh, Mythal," he sighed ruefully as he chuckled to himself at the idea, "you never could trust me to succeed, could you?"

"I don't understand," she frowned, eyeing him curiously. "Care to enlighten me?"

As if remembering that she was indeed still present, he sat upright abruptly and lightly grasped her shoulders. "There are certain abilities you possess now that are still unknown to you. I'll explain it all in full another time, but what is important now is that Mythal is still alive."

Lavellan's eyes widened in shock, her mouth dropping open. "How?"

Solas grinned in good humour, patting her arm in a manner that might have been misinterpreted as condescending to someone who did not know him as well as she did. "It's too complicated to go into right now, but essentially, you can remove a portion of your immortal spirit and separate it from yourself entirely. It is an ancient spell. If one happens to die before one can enter _Uthenera_ , and one has prepared for such an unfortunate turn of events, then one still continues to exist elsewhere… Truth be told, I've never felt so pleased to have been deceived," he admitted, sighing with stark relief.

Lavellan nodded slowly and, after a slight hesitation, closed her eyes and quested outward with her mind in curiosity. She felt the gaping abyss of time, as she had sensed within him once before, though then he had not permitted her to examine it closely. It enfolded around her as, this time, he allowed her to traverse his memory, floating in a strange void with nothing above or below but the endless expanse of eternity. "So it wasn't just tales," she marvelled with a whisper. "Ancient elves really did live forever, not just the gods…"

His forehead lightly against her own, he scratched at his earlobe slowly, deep in thought. "Immortality," he said soothingly, "is a difficult concept for mortals to fathom. Now that you have obtained it, though, I suspect you'll grow to understand it thoroughly soon; you always were a quick learner, _vhenan.._. But it isn't as simple as it sounds. We can fall to illness, and we can be killed… However, if kept in good health, our lifespans are naturally infinite when compared to mortals... And as such, said mortals are inclined to use violence toward what they do not understand. Since that is the case, those that remain choose to live out multiple lives under pseudonyms to avoid discovery."

"You have been others? Not just… Solas?" Lavellan's eyes widened, having never considered this before. "…How many times have you…" The words dried up in her throat, for she did not know if she truly wanted to hear the answer.

"Not many," he admitted hesitantly. "Very few, in fact, and you've probably heard of those as well... But we're getting ahead of ourselves. And I've already stated I would explain it to you, in time."

Lavellan was silent for a long moment, unsure of what to do with what she knew. Everything had changed, not merely just herself. "I don't know what I should call you, anymore… You probably have more names than I have fingers," she smirked to herself, another thought crossing her mind. "It feels like ages since I was Lavellan, even though it's only been hours. Everything has changed… I like the idea of taking another name for myself in order to go forward. I'm not the person I once was, after all."

"That _is_ true," Solas pondered, pursing his lips. "You are what the Dalish would refer to as a goddess, now." At her shocked glance, he quickly added "We were not 'gods' in any way, shape, or form; do not misunderstand my meaning… The qualities attributed to us, like justice, hunting, secrets, even gardening - those were simply things we were… passionate about, shall we say."

"Were you 'passionate' about tricks and treachery?" She arched her brow skeptically.

"No," he sighed through frustration, "I was branded as a troublemaker in my time – perhaps I still am, but it has always been by necessity. The 'treachery' bit was added over the ages and exaggerated with each retelling… My _true_ passions lay in freedom and rebellion. But what about you, _lethallan_? What drives you forward, gives you life, as it were?"

That hadn't been a question she'd expected to answer on such short notice. There was a long pause as she thought to herself carefully, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek as she considered her life until now and what she had stood for in general.

"Before you say it, the answer is no," he grinned, suppressing an unexpected laugh.

She shot him a quizzical glance. "'No' what?"

"I'm aware that it is a great passion of yours," his voice trembled with the shaking in his chest, "but no, _vhenan,_ you may _not_ choose sex as your main attribute."

"Oh, by the Dread – " She caught herself and scoffed, shoving his shoulder roughly so he fell on his back, convulsing with silent laughter. "By _you_ , I wasn't going to say that! It never even crossed my mind! Why would you go there?"

" _Ar seranna ma,_ " he apologised as he fought to regain his composure and sit up again. "I couldn't help myself; I'm still elated over the news of Mythal's survival. Alright, then," he cleared his throat loudly, "but regardless, don't choose sex. Otherwise, our pairing may appear to others as though we stood for 'sexual freedom'," he chuckled despite his best efforts to remain serious.

"And we don't?" She laughed, shaking her head as she glared at him critically. "Really, Solas, I'm surprised at you. You're more gutter-minded than I gave you credit for. And here I thought you were the quiet, intellectual type."

"Quiet intellectuals can also possess a sense of humour," he smirked, "but you're right, I should not have distracted you. Now back to the question at hand, then… Let's see, what would suit you as a fitting attribute? You were a great protector as the Inquisitor, but unfortunately, that one has been claimed, already. I wonder, what will you promote with the time that is given to you?"

Cocking her head to the side, she glanced away, picking up a pebble from the ground and rolling it between her thumb and forefinger as she thought pensively. "Hmm," she mumbled, "well, you stand for rebellion… but in my experience, rebellion usually ends in more chaos and death than would have been called for, otherwise…"

"Is that so? And how else would you go about bringing needed change?" He queried, interested in her thoughts. The philosopher in him must have been itching for a debate.

She met his eyes, her face mere inches from his, and the answer came to her in a sudden flash of realisation. "Revolution," Lavellan said as though he ought to be able to decipher the answer for himself.

"Revolution?" Solas repeated, looking off to the side as he weighed the word on his tongue.

"Yes," she urged him to understand. "Rebellion is typically an armed resistance of people who don't like the way things are going," she explained. "If you need an example of how unsuccessful that can be, just look to Kirkwall and everything that followed… But revolution is what's really needed in our situation: an overhaul of the establishment to make way for a new system… You can't just throw out the current state of affairs without a plan for the future; revolution is when you have an idea that will work for everyone, and you make way for the change you want instead of violently shoving your foot in the door. Isn't that bound to be more successful in the long run, and more widely received?"

He was moved to silence, his mouth slightly opened in lieu of anything to counter her statement, and he nodded slowly, seeing the logic of her statement. "A 'goddess' of revolution," he said at last as a soft smile crept over his features. "I am impressed with your wisdom in this decision. It pleases me that you would choose something appropriate to my – _our_ cause… I had not expected you to do so, if I'm being honest…"

She ran her hand down his forearm, which laid casually over her left thigh. "I'm happy you think so, Dread Wolf," she admitted, the corner of her lip lifting in a half-smile. Lavellan's brow furrowed as she rocked her head gently from shoulder to shoulder. "Actually, you have to decide on a name I can call you. I know you as Solas, but that's a false name. Dread Wolf is just a nickname, but…" Her voice trailed off as their eyes locked, her uncertainty plain to him.

"Well then, my name is Fen'Harel, if there are to be… _honest_ introductions" he smiled gently, his long hands finding hers on her lap. "And I am _still_ pleased to see that you live," he added lovingly.

Watching him, Lavellan's mind worked to make yet another choice on a night she would remember for the rest of her life. Alarmingly, she became woozy at the thought that her life might go on unceasingly, making this moment all the more important to get right. With a slight intake of breath, she returned the smile and nodded once in finality. "Nice to finally meet you, Fen'Harel," she replied, squeezing his hands in her own. "My name is Halani."

Fen'Harel's brows shot up in surprise. " _Halani?_ You're choosing 'help' as your name? That seems… odd."

She shook her head, bringing their clasped hands to her chest possessively. "Not odd at all, when you really think about it," she said, noting that what she was about to say might be a slightly embarrassing admission. "Help is what you need most. Help is what I am for you, and what I can give to this world… There is no more fitting a name for me than Halani."

At the moment of revelation behind her reasoning, Fen'Harel sat stunned as an outpouring of unspoken gratitude came forth, and he sighed slowly, wrapping his arms around her as he held her tightly to him. "It is perfect, Halani…" He pulled back to look into her face fully again, brushing the fair hair from her eyes, and lifting her chin as his lips moved toward hers to seal the unbreakable bond between them.

"Your name is help?!"

Fen'Harel and Halani jerked in surprise, pulling apart as if they'd just been caught in mid-act. In a cloud of black smoke, their friend materialised beside them at a short distance, seated calmly as though he'd been visible the entire time. " _Fenedhis_ ," they swore together before Fen'Harel asked pointedly, "Cole, how long have you been listening in on us?"

"I've been here. I've always been here. I never left," he muttered under the wide brim of his tattered hat. Worriedly, he looked up to meet their shocked stares. "Did… Did you forget me?" He asked them as he hunched into himself sadly.

"No," Halani insisted loudly, waving her hands in denial. "We didn't forget you, we just…" She shot a concerned glance over to Fen'Harel.

"We were somewhat distracted, Cole. Nothing more," he tried to reassure the spirit.

If Cole had brows that could be seen beneath the hair covering his pale eyes, they would have lowered in sadness. "No… You forgot about me," he saw through the white lie clearly. "It's okay. I shouldn't have hidden… Are you still fighting?"

"Not anymore," Fen'Harel answered, casting a glance toward Halani belatedly to be certain.

"We weren't fighting because we were mad at each other, Cole," she explained.

The spirit nodded, looking away toward the treetops. "I know. You were fighting because you cared. People always fight for what they care for, even if they care for those they're fighting with… Except soldiers – they fight because someone tells them to, though some do care… But I still don't like it. You two are scary when you fight."

Fen'Harel shot a glance her way at the same instance she glanced at him, causing them both to turn their heads elsewhere, the feelings between them awkward and slightly ashamed. "I apologise, Cole," he said honestly. "I never intended to hurt you, physically or otherwise. I was trying to keep you at a safe distance, and I was too forceful with you. Are you all right?"

"Yes. I'm not hurt. It doesn't matter, now. Things are better." Cole scooted toward Halani on the gravel. "I-I-I like your new name," he stuttered shyly, reaching up to readjust his battered flower crown. "It's very beautiful, and it suits you. It makes me happy that you like helping, like me."

"Thanks, Cole," she smiled genuinely with affection.

"And now you're not going to die," he exclaimed excitedly. " _Ever!_ We can be together forever!"

"Cole," Fen'Harel pondered seriously, turning to face the spirit directly, "we all have an eternity to live out, that much is true… but the path ahead is not something I'd put you through if there were no need for it."

Stopping all his subtle movements, Cole froze, his shadow in the moonlight stiller than the stars themselves. He glanced slowly between his two friends, anxiety rising in his body. "What do you mean?"

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

The elven temple Fen'Harel had led them to the following morning was a day's travel south by foot. Making their way cautiously through the damp, cold ruin in the pitch dark, they felt with chilled fingers along the walls carefully as they went before Fen'Harel had located the Veilfire sconce further in without effort, as if he'd known exactly where it would be through sheer memory of the place. The condensation on the stone glittered blue at the lighting of the ethereal flames, illuminating the walls high above them, though the ceiling was nowhere to be seen even if she'd dared to peer into the impenetrable blackness for more than a peripheral glance. The atmosphere was crypt-like, in no small part due to the fact that undisturbed stone sarcophagi lined the main aisle on either side as they pressed on. A wave of claustrophobia shuddered through Halani's bones, the hair on her arms prickling from goosebumps against the cloth of her white robes.

"Are you certain you know what to do, _lethallan_?" he asked her quietly, his low voice reverberating off the stone walls in a ghostly echo.

"It's a little late to ask that, but yes," she whispered back shakily after a long pause to thoroughly inspect the large room for beasties or the undead, thankfully finding neither. "Mythal knew all the passwords; so long as you can find it, I can get him through."

He turned from his position at the front, reaching low in the stillness for her hand, and resumed leading them forward once he had found it. Fen'Harel intertwined his fingers with her own, ready to squeeze it in warning if he heard anything unusual or alarming.

"The veil is thinner now," Cole commented to break the unending silence. "Everywhere we go, it's thin. Unravelling, untied… I can see the spirits on the other side."

"Only in the older places," Fen'Harel said, casting a glance left as a small chunk of wall cracked and fell to the ground after nearly a thousand years in place, disturbed by their presence as much as they were at its sudden submission to gravity.

"All places are as old as anywhere else," he replied, mostly hidden in shadows somewhere behind them. "Only the songs are different."

The elf mumbled his quiet agreement to the spirit's observation, the wary air around his shoulders dropping away as a dark archway took shape up ahead. "It is in the next chamber, if my memory serves me. I haven't seen it in many centuries," he admitted, "but hopefully it is still intact and uncorrupted…"

"Uncorrupted?" Halani muttered the question, not liking the sound of that at all.

"If it has been reached by the darkspawn, the magic within the artefact would now be tainted irreparably. Were one to try using it in such a state," he winced at the thought, "the result would be… Well. Let's not dwell on it. Suffice to say one would not come back unchanged…"

"It's not corrupted. I would hear it if it were," Cole confirmed before they stepped through the archway one at a time. Sure enough, a brilliant sheen reflected the light of the torch, guiding them up the worn, cracked steps to the platform on which it stood, still upright and unblemished after all these Ages, a worthy testament to its immortal creators. Fen'Harel lit the black sconces on either side of the narrow room, discarding his torch at the foot of the stairs and taking a cursory walk around to check for damage of any kind.

Halani stepped before the Eluvian, placing the rucksack on the stone landing and blowing on the artefact's surface heavily, releasing a thick plume of dust with the disturbance. She coughed lightly, waving the cloud from her face with a hand as she brushed at cobwebs equally as dust-ridden, their builders long since gone elsewhere in search of better trappings. As Fen'Harel reappeared from behind the large mirror's golden frame, he met her eyes questioningly. "Ready?" He asked, his tone hushed needlessly in the abandoned ruin.

She nodded, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, her eyes traveling up the Eluvian. It didn't reflect anything, its surface more like crude, unpolished silverite than glass. After a hesitant pause, she reached out her once-scarred hand and touched the surprisingly warm surface, the artefact reacting to her touch with ripples, as though a rock had been dropped in a pool of liquefied metal in a smithy. Reciting the Elvish password, the Eluvian emitted a soft harmonic note and sung to life, an enchanting glow dancing across its face.

The man at her side smiled admiringly before he turned his face to the doorway at their backs. Upon taking her eyes away from the mesmerising spectacle before her after a time, she turned as well to see what had caught his attention. Cole stood back and away, peering through the archway hesitantly, unable or unwilling to join them.

"Cole, what's wrong?" Halani asked, concern in her voice. She took careful steps down the small flight of stairs toward him, the reflection of the light on her white robes doing as much to break up the darkness as the Veilfire itself. "Do you want to change your mind?" She half-hoped he would.

The young spirit shook his head in response. "No," he answered, his voice clear as spring water. "It makes sense. They're like lightning, but the thunder is heard even after the flash is gone. And when the storm is over, I can come back… After they're free, so can we be."

Fen'Harel smiled softly in understanding. "We will always be here, just as you will. Your friends will not, though, and you should be with them while you can. Halani and I will make things whole, but you would be safer among friends that can help those who will not understand as we do."

"That's what I said," he replied, stepping forward to stand before his small elven friend. He met her eyes sadly, saying only, "The hearts of humans are hardened to history that isn't theirs. They hide their helplessness with hatred, crying heresy, so I'll help make things… easier."

"I know," Halani choked out huskily, fighting the ache in her throat. She wanted to tell him everything that was on her heart, needing to say how much she would miss him, and how she appreciated everything he had done for her without a second thought. The words caught around a lump of grief though, and attempting to push them out only awoke the tears behind her eyes she'd promised herself to keep at bay. Instead, she stepped toward him with a trembling sigh and wrapped her arms around him in a prolonged embrace.

He hugged her gently, sending calming waves over her as he rubbed her back. "It's okay. Words stick and can't come out," Cole reassured her. "I'll miss you, too, but you'll come back for me, soon."

Nodding, Halani lowered her arms and stepped back, her eyes cast down as she wiped them on her newly-repaired sleeve. At their parting, Fen'Harel came forward, placing an arm around her for support. She appreciated the gesture, and reached up to touch his hand lightly.

Turning to the spirit, he extended his other arm, resting his hand on his shoulder in parting. "Although you will be safer where you are going, Cole, that does not mean you will be out of danger completely. Should it come to that, slip across the Veil, and I will find you. If I cannot come straight away, I'll send Hope. You know of her?"

Cole nodded solemnly. "Yes… What will you do if you're in trouble?" He asked, voice trembling with worry.

Fen'Harel squeezed Halani's shoulder affectionately. "Don't worry; I have 'help'," he smiled as she nudged him gently. "And I am eternally grateful to you for that… Literally."

"Be careful," the young man cautioned, "when you wake them, they will still be mad."

Swallowing with difficulty, Fen'Harel breathed a quiet sigh and grimaced. "Whether they've calmed over the millennia matters little, in the grand scheme of things. Once they're released, they will finally answer for their crimes and be brought to justice." Seeing the sombre expression on Cole's face, he added with a bittersweet smile, "I will try not to die."

Recognising the words as his own, the spirit's lip quivered. He stepped forward suddenly, pulling him into a tight embrace. " _Do that, please_ ," he whispered earnestly into his friend's pointed ear, and Fen'Harel pat his back firmly in the way men often do when emotions they don't wish to show threaten to bubble up.

Releasing him after a moment, Cole gave him a once-over. "You swear you'll take care of Bunny?" He asked directly.

"Absolutely," Fen'Harel nodded his assurance. "My word is my bond." Without looking her way, he reached over and clasped her hand, giving it a light squeeze in support as she wrestled silently with her own heartache. She tightened her grip in wordless reply, as if afraid of what would happen if she let go of him for even a second, given what happened the last time she did.

"And you'll take care of the Wolf?" He asked Halani blindly through the tussled hair beneath the brim of his hat.

She nodded over and over in quick succession, only able to look up to meet his penetrating gaze after she'd regained some semblance of control. "I promise, Cole," she uttered, failing to inject the strength she'd intended into her speech. "I'll keep him out of trouble…"

"Good," Cole breathed, "you both need caring for. Have compassion, and you'll make it through whatever comes."

Halani exhaled a laugh, once again making light of another bleak situation. "So what, are we married now?"

Fen'Harel chuckled, smirking as he shot her a curious glance. "Well, perhaps only in spirit."

" _Fenedhis_ ," she swore, shaking her head. "Leave it to you." Halani smacked his arm in jest, sniffing loudly and patting her eyes again.

"Okay," Cole whispered to himself, stepping around them and making his way slowly up the steps to the Eluvian. Cool, watery hues rippled over the surface like waves against a shoreline, fading in and out as it awaited travellers to step through. "This will get me all the way through?" He asked nervously, touching the surface and watching the colours swirl around his fingertips.

Halani took a step forward, willing herself to keep back. "I opened a direct channel. You should step through and come back out in a blink on the other side… Safely." She hugged her elbows tightly as Fen'Harel wrapped a hand around her waist comfortingly.

"Safely," he repeated. "It sings to my spirit, a symphony, swelling sweetly high and low…" He turned to them once more. " _Seeking Solas, but finding Fen'Harel… Frightened, fighting him, but now a fond farewell for the friend with a forgettable face…_ If I don't see you again, Halani… Remember me."

She bit her lower lip hard, stifling sorrowful tears. "You're the reason for my happiness. I will never forget you, Cole," her voice strained. "I swear it."

"I'll send word now and again of our progress," Fen'Harel promised, straightening to his full height. "This is not goodbye, friend."

As Cole turned to face the Eluvian once more, he was struck by a thought, and swivelled toward them again in shock. "Y-Y-Your necklace, Halani," he stuttered over the words tumbling from his mouth.

"Oh! I have it," Fen'Harel suddenly remembered, pulling the Holy Symbol of Andraste out from his pocket as she voiced her surprise.

"No, the one you're wearing," Cole clarified, nodding in indication toward her neck.

"I thought I _was_ wearing that one." Frowning, she touched her chest in confusion, knowing she had only Cassandra's necklace among her possessions, yet finding another in its place, regardless. Pulling it from beneath her robes, she found to her shock the small wooden pendant of the halla bust. Her mouth fell open as she gasped quietly.

"She lives, and she's happy now. Her life is full," Cole said in confirmation. "I meant to tell you sooner, but…" He shook his head and turned away, eyeing the artefact warily. Just as he had decided to step through, grabbing up the stuffed rucksack in his grasp, she raced up the stairs and embraced him tightly from behind.

"Thank you, Cole," she cried softly, burying her face in his leathers. "You've helped me more than I could ever hope to repay you."

He patted the delicate hand over his chest gently. "Thank you… Even daggers sometimes have good intentions."

He heard her smile through her tears, her small voice muffled in the patched fabric of his tunic. "We'll speak later," she said brokenly at last.

Cole touched her hand gingerly, staring straight ahead into the whirlpool of light and colour. "Probably," he answered quietly. In the span of a breath, he stepped through the event horizon, slipping slowly out of her arms and not looking back. The wide brim of the worn leather hat was the last part of him to be seen before he disappeared completely.

Halani waited for a moment in the dim light before she waved her hand to close the connection as much as she did in farewell. After an indiscernible amount of time, Fen'Harel's steps echoed lightly through the small room as he reached his hand toward her to guide her down to him, his torch lighting the way as they walked back up through the ruins hand-in-hand.

:‾:‾:‾:‾:‾:

They had never been alone together in the truest sense. As Solas and Lavellan, the two had shared quiet moments in the peaceful leisure between excursions in the Inquisition, but even then they eventually had to rejoin their allies, parting ways to fulfil the duties of their posts. Now, and indefinitely, there was no call for separations of any kind, their only mission the one they worked toward jointly as a single unit.

Nearly a thousand years ago, he had been alone on evenings such as this, the sunset over the Tevinter border painting the sky an exotic, red rouge. Most of the time between then and now had been spent in _Uthenera_ , but even when he'd arisen, he was a solitary creature, spending his waking hours deep in reflection of past and current regrets before then entering the Fade to satiate his need for answers from those who could provide them best. Much of the journey north had been passed in a companionable silence, the woman at his side respecting the distance he created in his own mind. Old habits died hard, and ancient ones, moreso.

He studied her at times when she thought him lost in thought, whether she occupied herself silently with the book that she'd finished and restarted twice already, or took morning tea by the fireside alone, as he would not drink the terrible stuff if he could avoid it, though he had gone out of his way to procure the leaves for her as a gift. They slept separately, usually taking turns on watch, and only when it was safe would they find one another in the Fade to explore something of interest he'd uncovered there. Tevinter was an unsafe place for a free elf to be seen wandering, let alone two, but there was much left to discover in the millennium since he'd been here, fighting for freedom of another kind.

Their relationship had inadvertently grown rather businesslike as he kept up his quiet introspection. Though Fen'Harel and Halani shared the occasional sweet moment together, he was almost certain that she had quietly resigned to this new development and learned to accept it. Still, if there was anything Fen'Harel had learned in his prolonged existence, it was that nothing was inevitable… but how to broach the subject with her after weeks of tiptoeing around it entirely was a matter that escaped him, and he waited patiently for the opportunity to represent itself, to make his intentions known to her.

Halani brought him a meagre-looking stew along with the loaf of bread she'd attempted to cook over the open flame of the campfire. "I had to slice off the bottom crust," she told him with a hint of annoyance, wrapping a blanket around herself as she plunked down on the hard sand next to him, combing her fingers through the tangled blonde mass she called hair. It was getting longer, now reaching past her shoulders and down her forearms. He would have to inform her about how quickly it would grow unless she willed it not to, as he had his own. "It charred again."

"So I see," he observed, lifting the bread and poking the exposed softness inside to inspect its edibility. Reluctantly, he picked up the spoon and brought up a mouthful of the odd-smelling stuff, chewing cautiously should he encounter bones as he had the night before. A blank look spread over his features as he swallowed, and he replaced the spoon in the stew, turning to her with a knowing smile.

"What?" She asked, her expression hopeful. "Is it actually good?"

"It's a marvel," he spoke plainly, shaking his head in wonder.

Her eyes sparkled happily, crows cawing in the east behind a sandy rock face. "You really think so?"

"I'm continually surprised," he bit his lip to stifle a chuckle before continuing, "that you could possess the ancient knowledge and wisdom of Mythal's priests…"

She arched a brow warily, sensing he was not going anywhere good with this. "Don't even say it," she warned him.

He grinned, unable to contain his delight. "…And not one of them had a decent recipe to share."

"Ass," she sighed, leaning back against the jutted boulder in the desert by which they'd taken shelter. "An elf once gave me a recipe for this thing called 'Jar of Bees'. I'll whip one up for you, next time."

Fen'Harel picked at the stew absently, trying another spoonful as he shrugged dismissively. "Well, at least I won't die of starvation out here," he mused through the mouthful of gritty-textured stew. Had the wind blown a sprinkle of sand into the pot? At this point he wouldn't have been surprised to learn she'd added sand on purpose for seasoning. "Food poisoning, however, is not out of the realm of possibilities."

"Oh, I guarantee you, if you keep this up, you're gonna die," she crossed her arms, pouting.

He laughed after he swallowed hard, a soft smile overtaking his full lips. " _Vhenan_?" He said, leaning toward her on a hand.

Halani turned her head in surprise, her mouth opened slightly at his closeness. "What?" She asked with a soft smile.

Meeting her eyes, he paused for a moment, taking in the beauty of her face in the dimming light of the Tevinter sun. "I would die happy."

She stared at him for a long moment, questions and answers passing wordlessly between them as they traversed this old, vaguely familiar territory together. There was a bareness and an honesty being experienced that they had let fall by the wayside in lieu of other things to accomplish, and adoration swelled in his bosom with a sudden heat that radiated from him. Something was vastly different from the way he had felt for her before. Whether it was the honesty or the growth and maturing they had both gone through, he didn't know, but it felt… right.

The intensity of the moment took her aback, causing her to look away and change the subject in her usual fashion. "Well, I've got an eternity to learn to cook properly, at this point," she said, taking the stew from him and tasting it herself for what he assumed to be the first time. She grimaced, turning away to spit it out in the sand and bury it like the dead thing of which it tasted. " _Eugh_ , that's disgusting! What is that?!"

Fen'Harel laughed appreciatively. "You're meant to test it throughout the process to check for taste," he stated what he had presumed would have been obvious. "And you may have time on your side, _vhenan_ , but I don't think an eternity is long enough to reverse the damage that's been done already," he teased her, picking up the bread as if it were an interesting fossil she'd presented him. "For instance, if you burn the crust, yet the centre is raw dough, that is an indication that the heat is too high. What did you use to cook this, your staff?"

"Maybe," she muttered, and upon noting the look on his face, she scoffed. "Oh, like you've never made a mistake before," she rolled her eyes at him.

"The difference is I learn from mine."

Halani burst out laughing at his remark. "Yeah, you never make the same one twice, at least."

He chuckled in good humour, running his hand along his scalp. "Alright, Halani," he nodded, "I'll teach you how to cook, and you teach me how not to destroy the world. Do we have a deal?"

She looked at him with exasperation, shaking her head in mild frustration. "One is hardly equal to the other, is it?"

Grinning, he shrugged a shoulder and lifted a heaping spoonful, tipping it sideways and letting it plop back into the wooden bowl. "I wouldn't underestimate the destructive power of your concoction… I wonder if I can coat blades with this," he glared at it thoughtfully. "It would make for an excellent poison."

"There's an idea! Let's test it – I'll stab you, and you tell me if it works. How's that for a deal, Fen'Harel?"

He watched as the first star faded into view to the north, pride in his voice as he replied, "Your deals sound more like mine all the time! But I'll do the cooking from now on, I think."

After forcing down enough of the pungent supper to stave off his hunger, Fen'Harel fed the fire and piled a pillow-sized hill of sand, laying on his back with his hands crossed beneath his head to watch night fall over the desert wilderness. Nights were warm enough despite the winter that he had no need for a blanket, but Halani insisted on rolling up in hers, if nothing else but to keep her clothes from being invaded by the endless sands, her boots and trousers removed to prevent such an outcome. A long hour had passed in another span of silence where he'd assumed she had succumbed to fatigue after their long hike through the sweltering hot terrain, but she stirred unexpectedly, turning to face him again, her brow furrowed. Catching this in the corner of his vision, he shifted his head to give her his attention, waiting patiently in the peaceful stillness.

"So how come I can't be the goddess of sex?" Halani smirked.

He hadn't expected that in the slightest. "Oh, what – _really?_ Has that been on your mind all this time?"

She glanced at the sky, sighing quietly. "Not the _whole_ time, I just…"

Fen'Harel leaned up on an elbow. "Is that what you seriously desire as your main attribute - for the rest of _eternity_?"

"I just want to know why you're so against it, that's all," she shrugged under the woolen blanket, propping her head upon her hand. "I mean, it's obvious why, for the most part, but I just wondered if the position was already taken by someone the Dalish don't know about, or if there was another reason, like... maybe you think I'm not worthy of the title."

If ever a moment had presented itself so easily to him, he could not recall it. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for. With a sigh, he lifted his gaze and said levelly, "I want to be the only man who calls you such – no other."

Surprise didn't begin to describe the look Halani gave him, her large green eyes widening impossibly for a few seconds before relaxing. She was as nervous as he was, apparently. "…You do?" She breathed, pushing herself upright and letting her blanket pool around her waist. "You've been so distant, Fen'Harel… I thought your feelings for me were done for." When he winced and looked away, unable to will himself to face her directly, she stirred and pushed the blanket off, her hand turning his chin toward her gently. "Is that how you truly feel…?"

It was now or never, he realised. " _Vhenan_ ," he started, taking her fingers from his chin and lacing them with his own. Shutting his eyes, he confessed, "I have never cared for anyone this way. You were not my first, but… none have ever compared to you, nor could another take your place for me. I told you once that you have become more important to me than I could have imagined, and that is still true, but it fails woefully to describe the depths my heart now reaches for you."

He opened his eyes to find hers mere inches from his own as she listened patiently for more. "I was frightened, gutless. I hurt you with a secret you couldn't know, let you blame yourself, for I could give you no reason you would accept," Fen'Harel acknowledged sadly, his voice hoarse. "It would be unfair to ask you to bare yourself to me again, knowing what I've done to you. But you see me now for who I am, as no one else has, and yet here you stay, defying every expectation I had… You shame me."

Running his forefinger along hers tenderly, he uttered softly, "You have become my personal goddess of sex, of love, of every broken piece that was missing inside of me. For that, I worship the very ground beneath your feet, _vhenan_ , and I will do so long after I cannot remember my own purpose in these lands. I have no right to ask this privilege," Fen'Harel winced, raising his hand to rest lightly on her smooth neck, "but if you'll have me again, I would like to be the only man who calls upon your name in the darkness."

Although he felt his little speech was too forward, perhaps even pleading and pathetic, Halani seemed to approve of it. Her eyes travelled over his features momentarily before she brought her lips up to meet his. His body answered, heart bursting with the desire to strengthen the bond anew. "Well then, Fen'Harel," she whispered between kisses, a small chuckle evident in her throat, "come, kneel before my altar and shower me with praise."

He breathed a silent laugh as he leaned toward her, urging her to lie back. "Yes," he agreed, parting her knees effortlessly and moving over her, "but before I do the honours, I must offer up a prayer to you."

She smirked, barely able to contain her anticipation as her breathing quickened. "Make it quick, my subject. What prayer do you offer, then?"

"One of devotion," he replied with a smirk, kissing her slender neck as she pulled him lower invitingly. "Halani, _ma vhenan_ , I give you my heart and my body, now and forever, that you might bless them and use them for your will…" She gasped as he entered her, her fists clutching the back of his tunic. "May I always be favoured above all others, in your eyes," he moved within her with a tender, slow insistence, running his fingers through her soft hair, "and _elsewhere_ , oh goddess of sexual revolution."

She reacted to his movement in a way she never had before, all of it once again new to her, but at his last words, she laughed in the night, the light of the fire playing beautifully over her pale skin. "Ah, _now_ I see why it would have been a bad idea," she smiled, leaning up to kiss him amorously.

"I tried to warn you, _asha_ ," he groaned, biting her lip gently as he gave unto her everything that he had and was. "You never listen to me…"


	21. Epilogue

He was starting to break a sweat despite the bracing chill of the Frostback Mountains. His laboured breath condensing inside of his helmet, he blocked the Knight-Captain's blade handily, pushing against her steel and forcing her back a pace. Swinging with his own, he brought his sword down on her hard, and she raised her shield just in time to avoid the blow, slamming him in the chest plate with it as his weapon ricocheted harmlessly away.

On the outskirts of the sparring pen in the courtyard, new recruits worked with the less impressive tools of the trade, but nevertheless important ones: shovels. "Is there anything more stupid than shovelling snow when it's still snowing?" He caught the fatigued muttering of one of the younger men.

Cullen removed his helmet and strode up to the low fence, glaring hard at the speaker. "I'd say complaining about your duties within earshot of your Commander tops the list of 'stupid' things, wouldn't _you_ , recruit?"

None of the diggers had been aware of Commander Cullen's close proximity, and the look of fear in the recruit's eyes spoke volumes as he straightened and saluted immediately. "Yes, ser! Sorry, ser!"

He turned back to the centre of the ring, adding in a tone of disdain, "And if I hear any more whining out of any of you, I'll have you digging and refilling ditches from dawn till dusk for a week!"

"Yes, ser," they shouted in acknowledgement, saluting in turn.

"As you were!" Tossing his helmet aside as they began shovelling the fresh powder with renewed vigour, he faced the templar again, raising his shield and nodding after a moment in signal to resume the training.

"I like your style, Commander," she complimented him, shifting to and fro on the heels of her steel boots, trampling the heavy snow underfoot.

"Someone has to discipline these louts. Following orders to the letter is more important to me than their job satisfaction." They crossed blades as he blocked her advance, side-stepping her next swing and making contact with her shield, the satisfying clang of the metal ringing out through the courtyard.

"It _is_ pretty pointless, though - ser," Scout Harding commented wryly from the sidelines, leaning on the railing as she observed their sparring. Michel de Chevin stood next to her, paying rapt attention to the proceedings along with an assortment of other templars. Cullen had invited what remained of the Templar Order into his forces to rebuild it and get it back on its feet, as per the wishes of Vivienne, Madame de Fer, now better known throughout Thedas as Divine Victoria.

"The _point_ , Harding," he grunted, throwing all his muscle into another heavy blow, "is to build stamina and learn obedience. Winter is coming, and with all the extra snow, I can make this exercise last as long as necessary, which is convenient for me."

He could hear the smirk on the lips of the templar, her black hair coming loose beneath her helmet as she thrust toward him. "And inconvenient for your mouthier subordinates, I see."

He deflected her blade in time, his scarred lip turning up. "Break! Nice footwork. Tie your hair back before it gets in your eyes, Knight-Captain."

"They are building character as well as muscle," the chevalier piped up, his chin resting in his hand as he leaned against the fence.

"You see?" Cullen pointed at the blond man with the end of his sword in indication, "Michel gets it."

"I trained similarly as a young man in Orlais. It is good to see Ferelden adopting similar methods," he said, approval evident in his voice.

Cullen arched a brow, his brown eyes gleaming mischievously. "And how do you know it wasn't the other way round, de Chevin?"

Michel straightened, his hand resting on his hilt. "I do not. It could have been. I meant no disrespect, Commander."

"None taken," he said, crouching as he slammed his sword against his shield. "Care to stretch that sword arm?" From his vantage point, Cullen watched as a lone pilgrim raced out of the main hall and moved quickly down the stone steps.

Smiling, Michel reached behind his back to unhook his round shield. "Is it my turn, already? Well, and so it is! Perhaps your templars will benefit from seeing a different fighting style in action."

After the Knight-Captain bowed respectively, she walked to the edge of the pen and exchanged a soldierly pat on the back with the chevalier. "All right, now , pay attention, men! See how a - "

Just then, a flood of pilgrims and chantry sisters flowed out after the man before them in a hurry, catching Cullen's full attention. Alarm bells rang loudly as they reached the courtyard and scattered, panicked cries escaping them as they went. Frowning, Michel turned to see what was amiss, and caught the robed arm of a fleeing mage.

"What's going on up there?" Cullen asked the woman sternly, authority flooding his voice.

"C-Commander," she stammered, trying to detach the firm grip holding her there, "the witch in the garden - she found that big elven _mirror_ thing - It's glowing - _active_ , or something!" The mage finally wrenched free, fleeing toward the stairs that led to the arcane research tower.

Michel turned to Cullen suddenly, his eyes wide with shock. "The Eluvian?" Not sparing another second, the chevalier jumped the fence and drew his sword, charging up the staircase for the prayer garden. Cullen, the Knight-Captain, and Scout Harding followed close behind, and with a glance to one another, the remaining templars that had gathered around the ring for the exercise charged up the steps, as well.

They pushed through the wooden doors to the left and emerged in the garden, leaping the stone wall and landing next to the planters as they spotted the ethereal glow of the Eluvian in the side room straight ahead. His men on his tail, Cullen charged on, his weapon at the ready.

Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast was already present, having been interrupted by the disturbance during her hour of prayer in the chapel. "By the Maker, I demand to know what is going on in here, Morrigan," she was already shouting as he entered, their armoured boots ceasing in their noisy scraping upon their approach.

Morrigan turned to them, ice in her tone as she glared impatiently. "And as soon as I discover that for myself, I shall inform you!"

"Move aside," Cullen ordered her curtly, eyeing the artefact with a keen mistrust.

"So you can destroy it? Hardly," the raven-haired apostate glowered, standing near her prized possession protectively.

Michel de Chevin came to Cullen's side, eyes wide with wonder. "Someone has opened the Eluvian from the other side," he uttered, dumbfounded. He inspected the glowing face of the elven mirror with cautious fascination.

Harding gulped, her trained bow and arrow relaxing slightly as her eyes widened, trading a glance with the chevalier. "The other side of _what_?"

The sound of rushing wind flooded the packed room, and with a sudden, bright flash, a figure stepped through the event horizon of the Eluvian, a large hat and tussled fair hair obscuring his face. His leathers were patched in places, straps of reinforced cotton crossed over his chest, and two wicked-looking daggers lay sheathed on his back. Instantly, he jerked back and dropped the rucksack he was carrying, as surprised by their presence as they were at his.

"Oh," he said softly, glancing at everyone in turn.

Cassandra held up her sword before the newcomer, glaring fiercely. The confusion mounting with the tension, the Knight-Captain straightened stiff as a board just behind Cullen's shoulder, muttering something breathlessly as she ran back out of the room without warning. Though he wanted to turn and reprimand her for seemingly fleeing the confrontation, he kept his eyes trained on the young man. "Identify yourself," he commanded loudly, bristling.

"They said it would be safe," the young man cried, startled, shaking his head in denial. "This isn't safe!" He stepped back hurriedly, his hands feeling desperately behind him for the open portal. As though on cue, the enchanted doorway at his back blinked shut with a _whoosh!_ just as he reached it, finding the Eluvian dishearteningly deactivated. "Wait! _Halani_!" He turned his back on them, placing his palms on the face of the artefact and hitting it uselessly, as though his knocking would reopen the way.

Seeing that the boy was frightened, Michel lowered his arm and relaxed his expression to one of curiosity. "Who are you?" He asked calmly, hoping to diffuse the situation.

The young man turned swiftly, his back against the surface of the Eluvian, and he looked around the room as if searching for a familiar face. "I am me," he answered, clasping his hands meekly before himself. He met the commander's stare and stepped toward him, hope in his obscured eyes. "Cullen, don't you remember?" He shot a glance at the Seeker, holding his hands out toward her. "Cassandra, it's me... I'm Cole."

"How do you know my name?" Cullen asked, wholly taken aback by this stranger. "I've never seen you before in my life!"

Cassandra raised her sword, apprehension materialising behind her eyes. "It's a demon!"

Cole's shoulders sank in defeat, backing away as his hat shook from side to side. "No... You forgot me."

Morrigan stepped in at that moment, her brow arched in disbelief. "You do not recall having met this poor creature?" She asked pointedly, turning her yellow eyes on all in turn. "None of you?" She crossed her arms before herself, shifting her weight on a hip as she rolled her eyes in disgust. "Ugh. Pitiful."

"Wait," Harding breathed, lowering her bow in surprise. "I don't know who _he_ is, but I recognise that pack plainly enough..." She turned her gaze on Cullen, worry etching a line between her brows. "It's the Inquisitor's."

Utterly shocked, Cullen and Cassandra traded an alarmed glance, simultaneously relaxing their intimidating stances as their mouths dropped open wordlessly. This man not only knew their names, but had in his possession a rucksack belonging to Inquisitor Lavellan. Perhaps they were mistaken somehow, but damned if he knew why they could not call his face to mind.

Cole cautiously inched toward the bag, grabbing it up and holding it before him protectively. "I-I-I tried to help her, but... she was sick... Then the wolf came for her."

Morrigan jerked at his revelation, astounded. "The _wolf?_ " She repeated, something in his words triggering recognition within her.

"Yes," he nodded to the witch, turning back to the gathered forces as he fidgeted with the bag to open it. "But then, the dragon came out..." He paused, looking down in remorse. "She fought... She didn't win."

Cullen felt a lump harden in his gut, veins turning to ice under his skin. "Where is Lavellan now?" He asked, his voice wavering.

Cole met his eyes, his ghostly face still and sombre. "Lavellan is gone," he said simply.

Cassandra stepped back a pace, her brown eyes full of pain. "Maker, no," she prayed, her hand over her heart beneath her silverite chest plate. Harding reeled, leaning against the wall for support as her knees gave way, Michel coming to her side as his head lowered in remorse. All the while, Cullen stood stock still, unable to register the impact of the young man's words.

At this, Cole looked down and opened the flap of the rucksack and slowly pulled free a burned, mud-stained, and torn garment, its colour and features unmistakable. His gut wrenching in agony, Cullen reached forward hesitantly and took the proffered cloak with a shaking hand, blade and shield clanging hopelessly against the stone floor of the small side room. Eyes burning, he held the draping cloth over his forearms, grasping at the matted fur between his gauntlets.

Cole stepped close, his voice just above a whisper. "She said to tell you, ' _Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?_ '"

Laughing unexpectedly, Cullen covered his mouth as his heart shattered in his aching chest. Unable to recover his breath, he turned from the room and strode away quickly into the garden, tears of grief escaping as he passed the Knight-Captain upon her reappearance, dragging a dark-haired, bearded mage with her insistently.

"Well, I hope you're this excited later, Evangeline. I've got something I'd like to show you, too! What's this all about?" He asked her playfully.

The templars filed out of the room, followed by Michel de Chevin, Scout Harding, and Seeker Cassandra, who moved to join Cullen as he plunked down on a bench and buried his face in his ruined cloak.

The mage shook his head slowly, looking at the woman next to him in confusion. "What's happened here?"

Evangeline removed her helmet to uncover her black hair, a soft smile on her face as Cole emerged from the room, looking worn and hesitant as he glanced around the frosted gardens of Skyhold. Then his eyes caught sight of the mage and the templar on the other side of the well, and he froze in total disbelief as they traded stares of unabashed recognition with one another.

"Rhys," Cole croaked, his voice cracking with emotion.

Suddenly finding his feet, Rhys made his way across the grass to his friend, Evangeline following on his heels. Without waiting a moment longer, the Knight-Captain threw her arms around the spirit boy, practically tackling him, the spirit medium joining her in their embrace.

"Cole," Rhys grinned in greeting, his tone hoarse.

Unable to contain his joy at their reunion, he gripped his friends desperately, as if he could scarcely believe they were real, and they held him close as he began to weep with relief at having found them again.

At long last, Cole was finally home...


End file.
